


Feast

by GorseMonster, Sheshaventures



Series: Consumption [4]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Animalistic, Ascians (Final Fantasy XIV), Bathing/Washing, Biting, Blood and Violence, Body Horror, Branding, Comfort, Double Penetration in One Hole, Double Vaginal Penetration, F/M, Female Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Fluff, Kidnapping, M/M, Mild Cannibalism, Mind the tags but everything is consensual, Monsters, Overstimulation, Pseudo-Oviposition, Rough Sex, Soul Bond, Soul Sex, Tentacles, Throat Fucking, Transformation, brief ass eating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:27:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 51,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21915217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GorseMonster/pseuds/GorseMonster, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sheshaventures/pseuds/Sheshaventures
Summary: Hot and cold, light and dark, monster and man.Come together at last, monster mine, and revel in your debauched madness.
Relationships: Elidibus/Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch, Elidibus/Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch/Warrior of Light, Elidibus/Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch/Warrior of Light
Series: Consumption [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1484786
Comments: 19
Kudos: 39





	1. Hors d'oeuvres

**Author's Note:**

> If you've read Hunger, you will know exactly what you are getting in to.
> 
> Did you think it was over?
> 
> There's more to come. 
> 
> But first, enjoy the meal.
> 
> Once again Shesha wrote all parts pertaining to the Warrior of Light, as well as Elidibus this time, while Gorse wrote the portions pertaining to Emet-Selch. We wrote one another back and forth, which is why it reads the way it does.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finger foods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To start a meal.

There were a great many things to appreciate on Norvrandt, and the night sky of Il Mheg was one of them. The heavens rose, open and vast, a dark velvet blanket glittering with stars and the distant swirl of stellar color. Far, far in the distance, the castle shone with its own beautiful radiance, iridescence bleeding off to meet with the darkness above.

But the Warrior of Light had eyes only for the man, resting peacefully, beside them. The dark sweep of lashes, the way his lips parted in slumber, the play of that distant light upon his face. He had finally taken her up on the offers to join her as she travelled from place to place on the First, and this campsite was one of many they had shared.

The water lapped softly at the shore, in a secluded place some distance away from Phisor Lran - off to the west and north. She was content, here with them, in what privacy they had found. The day had been long, fetching this or that for the pixies, watching Emet-Selch grow more and more irate at their games.

She had found it hilarious.

Still, they had earned this rest, but something would not let her descend into sleep of her own, just yet. Some instinct tickling the back of her mind. So she watched the Ascian, her lover, her monster clad in flesh.

At least, she watched until cold, damp hands clamped themselves over her mouth and nose and pulled, her vision blurring as water flooded her senses - the sight of a sleeping Hades rapidly disappearing as she was pulled under.

  
  


He could not deny how relieved he was when the fae had finally seen fit to relieve them of the myriad of tasks and chores. He felt the flesh he inhabited ache and whine sorely as they set up camp towards the nadir of Il Mheg's lake. He couldn't fathom why she would entertain them so willingly, for so long, for such mundane tasks that it made even the most bafflingly simple of mortal pleasures seem important.

The view was nice though. And, perhaps in some way it was _worth_ all that petty minutiae that she and the fae had put him through to appreciate this view, something he was beginning to find easier. Maybe through the shard of light that weighed in his chest, it had cleared his vision, if only on the smallest scale. Exhausted and content with his lover, his _dear monster_ tucked in against him, he found himself drifting off with the shimmering aether crystals and moonlike glow of the castle in his vision.

It was not the same when he woke, the grass damp where she had once been; absent, gone, _missing._ He called her, three times before standing, turning to see if there were footprints leading away, but only finding the trail of dewy water.

_No._

He practically sprinted toward the water after an ungraceful scramble to his feet, his soul reaching out to find the parts of his own aether he'd scarred and suffused into her body. _She cannot. They would not_ **_dare._ **

  
  


The trail led deep, deeper, to the depths and beyond, into the kingdom of the Fuath themselves. The pulse of his aether was distant, hers further still, a tiny glimmer of light surrounded on all sides by water. Whatever she felt was muted by distance, muddied by their domain. There was a sense of gaiety about the lake - of their realm - of celebration, as the water moved to smother the light.

Fae folk were dangerous, after all, when there was something they wanted, and her soul was a brighter one than any they had ever seen. How could they not wish to possess it, even with the strange new darkness spattered on the surface and within. Especially since they had been so close, once, to making her one of theirs.

She had escaped before, and they wanted to reclaim her for their own.

  
  


She is far too far to simply snatch with a snap of his fingers. And as monstrous rage welled up within him he did not feel he would be able to do so safely even if he could. _How dare they._ **_How DARE they._ ** No sense of what was not theirs, she was _his_ and he had _marked_ her and she...

Was mortal. With mortal lungs. And a mortal need for air.

Panic pierced him and he held onto the feeling of his own aether, far from him, a shroud of violet and black blooming around him, swallowing him into the rift to, in place of dragging her back, taking himself there. As close as he could. He felt his limbs twisting, unable to hold in himself as his body was thrown from the lake's surface to deep below, emerging as _Hades,_ an ancient, powerful sorcerer. A monster, full of hungry rage with gleaming white eyes and sickle-like talons that ached to bestow his wrath.

**"Let her GO!"**

  
  


The bonds around her were tight, digging into her skin, but she struggled regardless. So focused on escape was she that she missed his initial arrival, but she could not miss the fury, the panic, the **_rage_ ** that flooded them both. All she felt herself was frustration, anger, _indignation,_ but no fear. She did not fear the circumstances she was in, trapped as she was, and she did not fear _him._

But the Fuath did.

Scattering away like insects they fled, the gleeful atmosphere vanishing, drying up within moments in the face of such wrath. Amphibious creatures disappeared into pools and vanished into magic, their clever tricks depriving Hades of the violence he so thirsted for, that he sought after with such frothing wrath.

The Warrior struggled on, submerged as she was, bound within a pool, gagged and unable to call out for aid. Her face was a picture of concentration, of determination, but she was yet unable to free herself.

  
  


In a place so coated in colour and dancing lights he was the deepest stormcloud to ever exist. Black, inky and vitriolic he sapped the mirth from every ilm of Don Mheg, swiping at Fuath scattering into water, into glittering aether. His presence swept up on the pool where she was submerged, monstrous scythe-taloned hands sinking into it to reach her. He could feel her. He could feel her anger, her frustration but he did not know why she did not fear like he did.

His presence blanketed the very ground in shadowy pitch, ancient, monstrous and full of **rage.** She was _his_ and they would dare try to make her one of _them._

Gripping the bonds keeping her submerged, he pulled, and wrenched, and twisted, until in a monstrous roar they snapped, pulling her to the surface, his soul shrouding hers protectively, jealously, tangling, suffusing. **_Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine,_ ** is all he can think, and gods forfend any Fuath that may think themselves brave enough to face him, as he is. He pulled and twisted at the bonds around her body, frantically trying to get rid of any last lingering, _disgusting_ touch of fae magic on _his_ warrior.

  
  


The moment her hands are freed she rips the gag from her mouth, sucking in deep lungfuls of crisp air. The magic that allows her to live, to breathe underwater, remains, but it is nothing like the freshness of breaking the surface, of that first breath. Where his claws cannot reach, are not deft enough to do so, she pulls the bonds from herself. With nothing to hold to, they fall away, but the muddy, slimy feel of them remains.

She shudders, her own hands touching the indentations left on skin.

Don Mheg remains a riot of color, and she is too irritated, too _infuriated,_ too flooded with him and every bestial emotion he possesses to humor the fae here for a moment more. Her soul clutches at his, pressing close, seeking that chill that was _him_ and hoping to wipe the slime from hers.

"Hades, get us out of here, back to shore, _please,_ " all she can think about is leaving. That the itch of fae magic in the air will dissipate, as it had before, upon fleeing.

  
  


Gold taloned fingers sweep her up into a secure hold, a low rattling growl coming from deep inside his chest as he looks, just in case he may sate his rage, but finding every last fae scattered. His fingers rub and smooth over her skin as if to replace any touch of the Fuath's with his own, careful to not scratch with gleaming claws.

Violet and black rips open around them, pulling her with him through the rift as yalms and yalms of water were left behind, emerging on the other side, on fresh blossomed grass and cool morning air, dry and at the waterfront, far enough back that it may not lap at their ankles. Halfway returned to his mortal body he slumps onto the grass with her in his arms, holding her tight, running fingers through her hair.

**How is it you are alive? You should have been drowning!**

His lips kiss her face, her jaw, her neck, peppering her wherever he can touch. **They should have never touched you. You are mine. You are marked. Mine.** ** _Mine._** His claws rest at the waist of her shirt, tips pressing against her skin as he knows he could not just have her marked, but _branded._ Possessive, frantic, she can feel how his soul burns to make such an indelible mark.

  
  


She is breathless but it is not because of the water, but due to _him,_ of his kisses, his touching of tender skin. Of his jealousy, of his possessive growling. That which thrums down into the core of her and lights a fire within her belly, regardless of the harrowing nature of their previous predicament. Her body curls into his, pressing close, breathing him in, as she settles herself.

When the last fleeting feel of that fae realm has dissipated, she answers him, "I underwent a ritual back on the Source, beneath the Ruby Sea. Water, no matter how deep or dark, I may breathe as if it were air." She takes a deep breath, slowly, a smile on the exhale. "It's the only thing that saved me, before, when they caught us. They must have tried to finish the job this time."

But she feels his emotions, that frantic, whirling desire, and knows that it is not the time for levity. **Yours. Always, always yours.**

"But they should have known better. I'm yours, clear for all to see," she strokes a hand down his face, the other resting upon the claws that tease at her front. _That was something she had wanted, in that moment before, and still she desires it now._ The warmth rises in her at the next thought, ancient words spilling from her lips.

**_"Unless you wish to brand me as yours, as you claimed you could."_ **

  
  


Kisses on her shoulders, her chest, her throat, her chin, anywhere he can, replacing fae touch with his own. His presence is cold, heavy, comforting despite its chill and his body shrouds hers posessively, holding her tight. **"You are… impossible,"** he rumbles, pressing his forehead against hers, panting, still twists and knots of rage and fury and possessive hunger. His body draws tight like a bow string as his own language thrums through his body, and he cannot say he does not want to. Not after having so plain a mark ignored. He needs - _she_ needs this. _They need this._

Gold talons pull at her clothes, ruining them in shreds as he seeks to expose the unmarked skin of her lower belly, and when he finally does those impossibly sharp claws sink in, pulling troughs into her flesh, a wound he does not immediately seal as he begins to work a familiar symbol, his own sigil, into her flesh, blood blooming and weeping each time he makes a mark. Just two lines, drawn carefully, with precision, holding her and bracing her body with tendrils so she may not squirm and ruin his work. He feels chains tighten around his body, around his neck but his desire for this, for _her_ is so overwhelming that he bears the pain of his god's tempering for his transgressions.

His lips crush against hers and he tries to find care, gentleness within him to soothe her but all he dredges up is how much he **_needs_ ** this. There is little gentleness in this, it is as he said; crude, painful, it is a brazen act performed little even before the world was sundered.

Needing, wanting lips move against her mouth, and he would swallow every last cry of hers, every whimper and moan be it pleasured or pained.

**_Mine._ **

  
  


The chill envelops her, but does not bring discomfort with its cold touch - she burns far too brightly, far too hot, for that. He holds her tighter and the warmth rises within in response, an anticipation for something she can't remember but etches itself into the back of her mind regardless. He is shade, shrouding her, but still she shines bright.

Fabric is torn and she does not mourn her attire, taking a last deep breath before his claws puncture her skin. The pain is sharp, a burn as he carves, and she strains to keep still - for it is not just pain, but a deep, primal _pleasure_ at the action. Something with meaning far beyond her current state, far more ancient, and though she does not _understand_ she _yearns_ regardless. The hot feel of seeping blood streaks over her skin, and were he not holding her so tightly, so securely, she would have long since disrupted the delicate work.

She feels his need, _not just his but her own, twin desires that they_ **_share_ ** _in this,_ and it is hedonistic groans that he swallows, pain long forgotten, long left behind. **_Yours._ ** Both felt and gasped into his mouth as she kisses him fiercely.

The master that holds his yoke, however, rises to pull him back. And the monster within her _burns_ with indignation, a savage growl rippling through her middle as that outside force would yet _dare_ try to interfere. She is bright, a shining beacon, but so is the glimmer of light in his chest, and that faint light is all the leverage she needs.

It is simple, as small as she is - mortal and broken but oh, how she can still do _this_ \- to slip amongst his soul, to mingle ever deeper with him, and to use that light, her own guiding light, to slot herself in between those dark chains and the heart of him. Chains may be lifted, after all, and though it is freezing cold where it touches her, she does so regardless, a buffer now, between what tempers him and who he truly is. Her Blessing is searing hot inside of her, but she ignores it, the cold of the chains she loosens balancing back to a neutral comfort.

**_I will let nothing will interfere with this. Do not stop, love._ **

  
  


Two lines drawn, he removes the sharp points of his claws, sliding back up again to puncture skin and _drag_ down, agonisingly slowly. _It will be perfect,_ he trills to himself, scoring the crossed lines and curled hooks of his sigil into her, holding her tight, tighter whenever he feels her body about to writhe, but he will not let her. Hungrily taking each groan from her body as claws lance through her skin again and again, even taking some away entirely so there may be empty space, bleeding profusely, but he cannot stem the bleeding yet; not until it is done.

The chains around his throat tighten and yet still he refuses to yield; in this moment he would rather his master unmake him than stop, and almost fears that moment has come when he feels light, warm, burning _supernova_ of light wedged between him and his chains.

But it is a relief. A relief so prominent he _moans_ with the pain and weight of those chains off of him.

While large scythe-taloned arms hold her securely, and one gilded set of claws works his sigil into her, the other cradles and smooths across her cheek. Ever since she had made that joke, a moment of levity, he had been unable to drive it from his mind; an all but forgotten practice and yet not so forgotten that he could no longer perform it.

**I am almost finished,** he purrs lowly, holding her tight as he feels a jerk go through her body. A tentacle greedily slips between her thighs to apply pressure to clothed folds, sawing slowly, teasingly, adding pleasure as he drags the razor-sharp edges of his claws through her skin.

It would be an unmistakable mark. A presence that could not fade; more than the aether he filled her with and more than the scarring on her neck. It would not even need to be seen by mortal eyes for how _powerful_ a claim it is on her.

Two more rips into her skin from his claws, and they withdraw, resting on the profusely bleeding wound, a precise shape of his sigil carved into her lower belly. His palm presses firmly against the wound, and aether begins to coalesce against the flat skin there. It is cold. Colder than any other time she has been touched by his aether. It is so cold it feels like the sharpest burn she has experienced. It stays there, hovering just above her skin for a moment, and then plunges into the wound, sealing it, healing it and imbuing it not just with his aether but with the smallest splinter of his own soul.

  
  


The language she speaks is of gasps and hitching, broken moans as he continues to etch himself into her flesh. Try as she might, she cannot fight instinct, cannot fight the urge to thrash, to escape, to move away from the danger spilling her blood. But he holds her firm, holds her close, and she relishes in the confinement.

Blood drips hotly down her abdomen, spilling into the fabric of her remaining clothing, ruining it, and a shiver runs through her at the sensation. Muscle tremors, all over her body, break out at the feeling of talons parting her flesh, and the trembling is beyond her ability to reign in.

He purrs to her but she is unable to respond properly, mouth taken as it is by him, tongue entwined with his. The monster, her monster, her _true_ self, stirs further from somewhere far away, deep within. But the pain twists at that moment, becoming sweet, oh so _sweet_ and combined with the teasing pressure between her legs the heat within rises to a feverish pitch. The monster croons, pleased.

The claim. _His_ claim. To be _his_ in this way that she can barely understand, that she _wants_ to with the concept ghosting along the edges of her senses. Maddening, it is, how _badly_ she wants this.

It is too much for her to remain still when he presses against the wound - finished, finally to be **_his_ ** \- but the thrashing brought by the mortal agony does not, _cannot,_ stop what they two have begun. The ice of him flashes against her, and she cannot stop the way her head wrenches back from his mouth. Her teeth clench, and a wordless, mortal sound of torment grinds through despite her attempts to halt it.

Then it delves deep inside, and she _screams._

Relief of healing and the completion of this ritual is but a fleeting balm, burned away by the pyre she suddenly finds herself upon. It is hot, she is hot, too hot, and she _burns_ with it, with something beyond her _godsforsaken small self._ Her soul is caught between two warring forces, inferno and frost, but she is strong and thrashes, defying both of them. Light sears, Darkness bites, but firmly she stands between the two, unwilling to give the tiniest fraction to either side.

His soul pulses within her, through their bond but _also_ through this blasphemous act they have performed, a piece of him with her always, and she coils herself around it, tight, tighter, possessive to the extreme.

**_Mine._ **

A vision of herself surges to the fore, larger, full of _teeth,_ and she allows it to grow within, higher mind all but overcome. **_They cannot tear us apart. I will not allow it._ **

And she rises, more monstrous than he, deep within a sea of void and stars, grasping opposing forces with one hand each. Throttling, slipping more firmly between him and the _leash_ he would be kept on, she uses them against one another. For, joined like this, they will repel the other - but in the way _she_ decides, neutralizing to harmony rather than expulsion, rather than true negation. The intent behind this act, their act, will not be perverted, will not be _twisted._

Her scream becomes a roar as the faintest hint of otherworldly limbs, specters, barely there, thrash around them both. She reaches, stretches, tries to become the monster but cannot reach _far enough._

She remains small, visions of what she once was flashing around her body, and she pulls him into a biting kiss.

  
  


With each mark made his fevered breathing subsides, holding her still to writhe before he makes another. His furious, possessive mood wanes and instead of low growls accompanying each mark, he trills softly to her, touching here and there in places he knows to please her, to take the edge off the pain of the crude ritual he performs. It is not enough, and he knows this, and knows the pain of sealing the brand will be almost beyond a mortal body.

Within he sings and purrs and coils around her, pulling her tight with every limb she can feel, sharing his aether with her, pouring it to her in anticipation, so that she may get through the sealing of the mark relatively unscathed. He knows that the monster deep down, lurking, scattered wants and needs this, but she, mortal as she is, cannot fully comprehend. But he will do it anyway, for this is what he needs to ensure that never a single hand should lay upon her again.

Fingers soaked in blood he pours a shard of his soul into the gaps in her flesh, and he holds her as she tries to swallow sounds of burning agony, tightening the grip of tendrils on arms and legs to hold her steady. It _hurts_ as her mouth opens to scream, a pain that radiates past flesh and bone to inside him, and his body heaves with a stifled sob; he cannot bear to hear her in pain like this. Heavy breathing, he sinks his soul against hers to support her, as best he can even as chains pull tighter, even as he hears the faintest voice of a hungry god; it would be so simple to do it now.

He could never. He has had a glut of chances and each time he could _never._

She is his now, truly and utterly. No amount of death and rebirth would remove this mark, and no law of space or time could keep him from finding her, whatever body she may find herself inhabiting. But this one, for now, is the only one he wants.

The force of her manifesting in soul, the way she pulls the two opposing forces, twisting them, wrenching them into harmonising together…

He is dizzy. It feels viscerally _wrong_ in every fiber of his being, like a feeling he once knew, so long ago but should be _gone_ yet _here it is._ His hold loosens as his fingers, soaked in blood, find his chest and throat, touching and gripping, feeling as if he may, in this moment, lose this body.

And then he doesn’t. There is a moment of stillness, and then her roar pierces his ears, lips crushing against his, teeth grazing and biting at his lip. She has survived. She has survived and she is _his_ and in those faint echoes of that body he adores so much he finds himself nothing short of ardent, scythe talons ripping into her lower clothes, pulling them away from her body and slipping a tendril between her thighs to cup and saw against her cleft. Gold claws hold her tight to him, and he closes his eyes for the sound of light and dark pit to harmonise ring in his ears.

**_You need not be a monster for you to be my monster. Don’t strain. Be with me. Be us._ **

  
  


Every part of her is chaos. Her mind is chaos, tossed between impulses and reeling with thoughts she can barely grasp. Her body is wracked with spasms both from the shock of pain suddenly gone and from his sensual touch between her legs, heat and chill warring for dominance. And her _soul,_ her very soul holds an earthquake in one hand and a tempest in the other.

But she does not yield.

She reaches and strains but upon his words she ceases, growling in her chest yet placated by his words. The singing of harmony backlights her being as she presses close to him, supported by him even as she forces herself more firmly against his chains.

There is a thought, a clarity spiking through the chaos, a substance of pure order as his final two words repeat themselves over and _over_ as she dwells on them. _Be us._ **_Be us_** **.**

_A flash of an image, her memory, two becoming one, becoming_ **_Prime._ **

Her monster sings within as she spins yin and yang in her palms, discordance calming because she _refuses anything otherwise._ Could it be? With him a part of her, with her joined to him?

**_Is it possible?_ **

  
  


He supports her in every way he can, lending his own aether to bolster her own as she wars with the bindings of two gods far bigger than either of them within their shared connection.

There is a breath of relief when she stops straining to grasp at shards too far out of her reach. His kisses and touches are fervent, pressure between her thighs lifting, slipping between just for a moment until her memory ripples through him.

He had no recollection of this; had it been while he was sleeping? He saw Igeyorhm and Lahabrea and… He winced.

The thought had barely occurred to him, so used to living in the guise of a mortal for centuries, that he had all but forgotten. But with her, he did not even begin to know, for two Ascians was one thing, but he, an unsundered, and her, a Warrior of Light…

**_You redefine what is possible every day._ **

His aether reaches in a way it has not in millennia, for that connection that heretofore he believed could only be made with another raised into office.

  
  


The hesitation he feels through their bond does not go unnoticed. Still, she cannot desire but to at least _try,_ to not give up before failure was ever an option. His musings make her smile, as he once again brings up how at odds their forms remain.

"Shouldn't you know by now to stop trying to tell me how different we are? Monster is akin to monster, love," the words are fervent, and she cannot help but _preen_ as he confesses to her his lack of disbelief.

**_We do it together, my dear monster._ **

And he reaches out, towards her small, mortal hands and her small, broken soul. The way he reaches is different, and she feels it, does not fully understand but _knows_ somehow, that it is so. She observes for a moment before mimicking, copying his action perfectly. With arms outstretched, keeping Gods at bay, she does not reach so much as she hurls herself at him.

For a moment, there is nothing.

There is her soul and his, entwined deeper than they have ever before, yes. There is her wedged between him and his Master, there is her using that to keep her own Blessing at bay. There is monstrosity and love and two souls joined in all manner but one.

But then.

Shadow surrounds him, black and violet and Dark, the faintest glimmer of blue-white hidden in the core. And around her is the opposite, aether surrounding them both. She has seen this before, she _remembers_ this.

And she reaches further.

  
  


Protective as he is it is fully in his nature that he finds himself hesitant, even as he reaches down through her soul to a point where his hue begins to resonate and harmonise, tangling and twisting and when she reaches - when she _throws_ herself back to him, he welcomes it with open arms, holding her close as aether blooms around them both, a glimmer of each others light and darkness at their cores. The warring of the bonds of gods is forgotten for him as his eyes lid, its weight lifting as brightness and shade meet.

**_Together, hero,_ ** he agrees, a smile curling on his lips as swirls of violet and abyssal black swallow his mortal body, twisting with hers as it does the same, knitting into something more than just the two of them. It is an embrace without an end to its reach, and both feel like it would be possible to sink forever, never finding what that _thing_ they seek is.

Until that thing they seek is _them._

The presence of being one in a way mortals could never, in a way he had all but forgotten and his soul - _their soul_ cries in bliss, having been united far beyond a bond, a seal; one neatly resting at their lower waist.

He is right, though. Every day he finds his warrior redefining what can and cannot be done. Not just as one tempered to another, but as two diametrically opposed, as one unsundered and the other, fragmented, as one dark and the other light.

In this moment though, all that matters is what they are, a beast of iridescence, neither light nor dark, a sheen in the morning sun, of feather-scales and delicately ornamented plates of thick hide. Cracks in their skin formed by an incomplete soul filled in with almost liquid silver. A brutal appearance made decorative, as if whatever monster he or she were alone was just a part of a greater whole; layers of completeness in one soul fragmented, and the higher radiance of two souls and bodies together to create one that is neither one nor the other but both transcending to a new, greater thing.

They cannot deny the innate pleasure, the sheer intimacy of being _this,_ and how it has been so long and how he had denied it from his fellows because the only one he ever wanted to experience this with again was _her._

And he has her.

And in that moment of bliss he feels, a saw-toothed mouth opens to _moan._

**_It has been…_ ** he dare not say, nor even think how long. **_But finally, we are_ ** _Us_ **_again_ **

  
  


**_Revelry. Euphoria. Joy._ **

There is no need to strain and reach to become a monster now, not when they - together - are so beautiful a creature. Beasts apart, monstrous in nature, but together they are elegant, together they are this radiant being, this perfect creation that disregards whether or not they both are whole. She is not overtaken by him - even when apart he is larger within, and she so much smaller - because they are equal parts of this whole, this oldness made new once more.

She, as she is, has never felt so right - even as she regained her true monstrosity she was lacking, though she did not know it, and this is a completion far beyond anything she could ever have imagined. Her memory tickles at her, that this was once what they could be - and a trumpeting cry of sheer glee sounds through knifelike teeth.

**We are,** a two-toned voice rumbles from smiling jaws. And they may yet be again, for this time she need not twist and turn and do the impossible yet again, she merely needed to extend herself and her hand.

**And we may yet be again**. She takes control of them, surging to the fore to give voice to her breathless happiness, chortling, barking laughter rings out, echoing against the trees. It is a sound more fitting to find in the shop of a magitek engineer than from an organic throat, with how it growls and saws, but she does not care.

Let the world hear them.

The Dark and the Light are within both of them, now, and it is her will that they remain in harmony. But this time, he can see, feel, what she does, how she does it. Because he _is_ her, even though she moves, acts, without his intent. They are a creature of both poles, now, twin shades and tints coloring two souls made one.

**_They will not interrupt us, love. You see?_ **

Laughter slows, and a soft crooning moan sounds as she guides one set of hands over their body. She and he both feel as it happens, as they explore, become reacquainted with this body, cataloguing every change and what has remained from ancient times.

Pleasure follows, given to both as only one who owns the body may feel. For she feels as he, and he feels as her. Taloned hands descend lower, lingering on the crest that brands them in this form - that will brand her forevermore. A soft, fond circle of the flesh there, before ghosting even lower.

A first stroke, a test - she was ever bold as herself, and she will remain as such even when part of a greater whole.

Breath hitches, and she - they - **_delight._ **

  
  


A low sigh of bliss escapes him within, happy to allow her to explore their body, draped in soft filigreed silk, easily parted, lifted to stroke soft veloured skin and smooth ridges and plates. Her own delight becomes his, two minds simply one, only brief moments of separation as what is hers becomes his, and his becomes hers, a feedback loop of spiralling delight.

How she bends and twists both light and dark to harmonise, how she does so with such ease now that he is part of her, his power freely, fully hers to take and to use in lever these two forces against each other is a thing he marvels at, larger scythe-taloned fingers trailing across their chest, where that shard of her resides, even as smaller fingers trail down, down…

For all the coldness Hades is made of, the warmth of _them_ is radiating, heated, needful as their fingers slip down below the brand upon their lower waist, finding soft, pliant flesh that aches and _reacts_ to even the gentlest of touch, forcing groans from their body. Fingers press, squeeze and explore boldly, their body reacting with needy throbs and twitches. **_Lower,_ ** he pleads, and with a nudge of his own control, fingers slip between, _within,_ and the sensation is such that it forces them to their knees with a wail of pleasure that is amplified for the feedback loop their bodies have become.

Hips roll and buck in desperation, a need for _more_ and before long a velvet-smooth tendril curls its way between their legs, sinking in next to their fingers, offering slow, lazy thrusts that make their body shudder and their breath rasp inwards. **_F-..for you…_ ** Even his speech here, in aether becomes stammered, muddled. **_I would only wish… the highest of pleasure._ **

Fingers squeeze at throbbing flesh outside of their folds, the pad of a thumb finding the most sensitive parts that rend cries of agonised _ecstasy_ from their monstrous body, drawn out as a second tentacle sinks deep, held there, letting them revel in the feeling of fullness it brings.

**_And this is how we would achieve that._ ** A low purr resonating through them both, scythe-claws trailing hither and thither, a light squeeze around their neck with blunted claws, just enough to sharply twist their pleasure, a jolt that, had they not already been rendered upon their knees, would have brought them prone. **_Over and over… until we…_ ** he is cut short, hungered aether biting into hers in this moment, as if he could have any more of her, as if he could devour her any more completely than he already has to become _them._

  
  


Exquisite pleasure subsumes her, his actions and hers - theirs, in truth, for that control is shared as they pleasure themselves, pleasure one another, every stroke and thrust and flick and knead willed by both parts of this magnificent whole - dripping fire into the depths of their core, inferno raging within their belly stoked by the fuel. Fuel it she does gladly, the hitch in his voice spurring her onwards recklessly as he gives voice to words pulled from both of their minds - her soul sings with them, with that need to share in their pleasure, give him that ecstasy she feels.

The tentacles within them wriggle, pulsating as they begin to move. Filled to the brim but still desiring _more,_ said tendrils curl, coil, writhing within them even as they thrust. Every sensitive plane, each bundle of nerves is stimulated relentlessly as the height to which they are driven rises ever upwards.

Tightness around their throat and they wail, fingers and claws and tentacles all pressing, driving, fucking themselves to reach for that sunburst just on the horizon. Close, now, closer still, and he bites at her within, where they merge and share to become this gorgeous creature larger than themselves.

A growl, a hiss, slathered in lust, their jaw drips with foam and saliva as they work into a frothing frenzy. Her soul bites back, aether just as ravenous as he, starving and parched and he is the only salvation to slake and satiate. To devour one another within, even as they are one, quite a fitting state for the monsters they are.

She snarls, growls, intensity pawing at the edges of her sanity with the baying ripping from their shared throat. He would have her, even more? She would dive down his throat, then, a claim and submission both - and even in what memories she has such a concept was never done. Paragons such as he pour themselves into mortal bodies, dominating said hosts entirely.

Yet doing so of one's own accord? Impossible, save for within the union they share now. Where they are one. But further, now, she seeks. He would have more of her? So be it. An individual casting off every bind, every detail that marks them as _unique,_ dangerous should he never seek to relinquish what he swallows.

But she trusts, always. **_Until this._ **

Another final motion, his aether seeking to sink fangs within her once more, and she snatches her own individuality, wrests it from herself, and feeds it to his slavering maw. Her entire identity is consumed and she ceases to be - him, now, _his_ until he parts from her, an intimacy never before seen and perhaps never again. Feelings and emotions, her mind and soul, swallowed whole with gleeful abandon.

One, now. In truth. Only him.

  
  


It has been so long, and already it is too much for him, and the body he shares. Every breath is struggled and rasped into their body, wracking inhuman sounds of bliss from their throat as she takes the reins to fuel the already incandescent blaze their core has become. It isn’t long before physical ecstasy overflows, body bowing over, caught from falling entirely by large limbs as even though the overwhelming, nerve-searing sensations neither of them find themselves willing to stop, fingers and tendrils not slowing their pace as their body violently jerks and twitches with each swell and burst of pleasure in their climax.

Drool flows freely from their mouth, dripping from sharp teeth and long sinuous tongue, already thirsting to peak again, even though their body jerks and writhes and contracts and twitches, not even finished with their first and yet ravenously clawing for more, _more_ because it is _not enough_ and they _need this._

Aetheric teeth and claws sink into her soul; there is no glint of Emet-Selch here, barely even Hades, just the long-starved monster kept beneath layers of names and personas.

So happy to let her bite and chew in return, even as he hungers he knows she thirsts, and sweet, floral aether, sticky and heavy runs through her own, flooding the parched emptiness she so fervently seeks to fill.

How sweet her aether tastes, how delectable a treat she has become for him as he bites and gnaws, his hunger monstrous and out of control, so much that when she tears her very being from herself, everything that is who she is and offers it up, he snatches, bites and swallows whole without even hesitating, consuming her in her entirety. No protest, no worry, not like before because he has been driven so far beyond himself, his sensibilities, all he knows is his _want_ for her, for every part of her, and now he has it. He has her in a way that he had never imagined being able to, beyond becoming one physically, beyond branding, beyond sharing shards of their souls, suffusing each others aether with their own, it is _complete_ and it is **consummate.** And for a moment, he believes it to be just him, alone.

But that would be a lie.

Not in a compartment like he would place a host, not separate like when combined in body but now every part of her diffuses into him, _his_ being of everything he is and he has _taken her entirely._ All her feelings and thoughts are unbridled, as much a part of his consciousness as any other feeling and if what they already had, was too much for him this is beyond that by malms. There is nothing left but dregs of light-tainted aether that he hungrily devours too, until there truly is just him, a night sky filled with blazing stars and rivers of liquid silver beneath his feet.

Outwardly their body, _his_ body stiffens, a string pulled tight, almost to breaking, claws and talons digging into the ground, tearing up leaves, roots and petals as teeth grit and jaw clenches, chest heaving but not breathing as another orgasm balances on a knife’s edge, stealing vision and hearing. Tentacles buried deep shift to press at the anterior of his inner body, and it pushes him across the edge, _his_ monstrous, combined body collapses, throat finally permitting air passage if only to give utterance to ecstatic cries and sobs. Gold taloned fingers sink into his chest, dragging open skin and letting blood pour freely; abyssal, yes, but now imbued with an iridescent blue sheen and shards of quicksilver that glimmer like stars and he gasps in _bliss,_ wounds healing, and he does it again, dragging talons across a hip, his waist, tearing himself apart through a climax lasting so long, overlong, and needing to taste her, her body, he bites down on his own arm, bones shattering, thick blood that tastes of warm leaves and summer, fruit and flowers pouring into his mouth and _finally,_ **_finally_ ** he finds _relief_ from the frenzy, the supernova of ecstasy he is pushed to. He holds that vice grip for moments until teeth tear flesh and bone free, swallowing, gasping his pleasure and his body knitting back together in the wake of damage inflicted onto it in his ardor.

Overwhelmed by how her soul, now _his,_ how the sound it makes within is something he has never heard, never experienced and it is nothing short of _transcendent._ He does not know where he ends and she starts, if such a thing exists now. He cannot find her, not as an individual consciousness but he feels her through every part of his body and aether, even as part of his thoughts and feelings that he _knows_ are not his and yet, they now are as much him as anything else.

So he lays there, rolling onto his back to stare at the sky, his gaze finding its way towards the moon, bright, waxing towards its peak, a crescent short of being whole. He twitches and jerks, panting strained breaths that occasionally catch as an aftershock tears through his body. He loves her, and he does not need to vocalise it. She knows it now, fully, just as he, overwhelmingly, knows her own feelings for him. It is so silent now, one set of lungs breathing, sounds of ecstasy gone, a faint rustle of breeze through trees and the safely-distant sound of water lapping at the lake’s shore.

  
  


She is gone, now, nothing left but the thrum under his skin and the new song in his heart. Above, the sky remains as it did before the Fuath had taken her, dark and peaceful and dotted with innumerable stellar bodies. The castle still shines, brightness providing additional light alongside the moon high above.

Whatever creatures live here, fae or otherwise, have hidden themselves in the wake of the two of them, fled from screams of pain and pleasure and the stench of blood. But the water still sounds, the slow rush of small waves, the other elements continuing their endless cycle through the world - uncaring of them and their physical delights.

The moon shines above and there on the shore a figure stands, yet casts no shadow. Though the light is low, it is bright enough to illuminate them, for they stand in robes of white. Golden adornments are attached to decorated fabric with intricate violet and gold designs, and the white hood shrouds their face. Yet it cannot hide the mask they wear, a splash of crimson the color of blood.

He looks on - for with that garb the identity of the newcomer may only be one man - and his head tilts in what could be curiosity. His presence is not hidden as he watches the beast, two souls in one, lying sprawled upon the grass.

Elidibus says nothing, merely watches. And waits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is only a taste.


	2. Appetizer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whet your appetite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Try not to gorge yourself just yet.

His gaze is fixed on the moon for some time, faintly confused by how it does not pull at him as it usually does, chains no longer tight around his body and throat. He could simply... Leave, like this. With her, now him. He could roam free, do as he wanted, a beast freed of chains and the thought  _ thrilled _ him. He'd never let her go. She would be him, forever, yes?

It's not long before he feels that familiar presence, like him, old and unfathomable. He would not, surely, no. Turning his head towards the water, he regards the robed figure with white eyes, as if seeing an illusion before he realises that Elidibus is here. He who would, who has made multiple attempts to remove her from the equation. His aether bristles and still trembling, coated in abyssal blood, he pulls himself to his feet, large limbs keeping him steady and robes draping back down around waist, hips, and legs.

Little more than a beast, full of instinct and primal motivations, he stares Elidibus down, letting a low growl rise in volume in his chest, not approaching, just warning. He will not strike first but it is all too clear from how his aether flexes, how his tempering is weakened, that he could easily strike at Elidibus without his god stopping him or delivering immediate retribution.

She is _ his  _ and he will not allow any harm to come to her. She is  _ safe now, within him.  _ Just his. His.  _ His _ .  **_His._ **

His heart beats rapidly, excitedly in his chest, still on its high from climax, and his face smeared with shimmering blood. He _ is _ excited, but no part of him knows if he thrills for a fight or thrills at the sight of his fellow unsundered. He is  _ proud  _ and not a single flicker of his aether shows shame for what he is and what he has done, chest puffed out. A monster. A proud monster. Something beyond Hades, something primitive deep within him now at the fore. At first an indulgence he had not allowed in centuries and now something far, far beyond that. And he is  _ proud. _

  
  


The beast stands his ground, challenging, unspoken threats as obvious as the situation from moments ago. But Elidibus is a patient soul, ever planning, ever calculating - the long con frequently played in a game far more complex than chess. The questions he has may yet be answered after all, in time, he merely has to wait for Emet-Selch to regain more of his higher faculties.

The Emissary is also not a fool, so he maintains his distance, standing where the grass meets the sand, tide ebbing behind him. He says nothing, head canted at that intrigued angle. From the aether around, the blood gleaming upon the monster's breast, he may discern that the Warrior of Light had been here - still was, in truth - yet somehow had managed to overcome-

Well. It did not do well to come to false conclusions. He would hear the truth from the Architect's lips, even if it took until dawn and beyond for the man to remember more of himself beyond what base primal instincts he retained as of now.

Still. The implications were fascinating. Light and Dark alone in the same body without vying for control, no attempts to dominate the other, clear to his sight as the moon above.

So he will wait, staring down the creature, also unwilling to back down from the challenge.

  
  


His lips quirk and pull, baring jagged teeth at Elidibus, not backing down but not advancing, the white-robed man meeting his challenge with wordless strength. If that is his wish, then he would gladly strike first. Powerful feet dig into the ground and he  _ sprints _ toward the white-robed Ascian, his sigil blazing to life over his face. Yet, not his entirely. Fused with something else, something forgotten, it twists and bends with static, flickering at its edges and unable to manifest fully, wholly blended as it should be.

Diamond-sharp claws gleam in Elidibus’ vision, and yet their trajectory is wrong, the swipe too far to the side, travelling too far down where it instead rakes into the ground. A second swipe from a huge scythe-clawed hand sings through the air but again finds itself not on target in a show of intimidation that does not deter the Ascian’s silent challenge. Baring teeth once more, gilded claws swing up, aim true to Elidibus’ throat-

And stop, just short.

As long as he was present, her life was in danger. This man in white had plotted to kill her, for so long, for so long. So patient, always waiting, but he would not take her from him. So why does he stop? Why does he not steal the life from this adversary’s vessel? He would not let the Emissary have-

Elidibus. Emissary.

And he was Emet-Selch. Architect.  _ Hades. _

**_Hades._ **

A breath of clarity like no other fills his lungs, having almost consumed  _ himself  _ and not just her in his throes of passion.

**“Emissary…”** he rumbles, drawing himself to full height, back straight, larger scythe claws reaching, so easy to swipe, but a gentle touch to the Ascian’s throat, dropping back down to Hades’ sides. He does not feel chains holding him back but all the same he realises that this is his ally, his… friend.  **“Emissary…”** he repeats, as if trying to remember. His face twists in pain, holding it, and his monstrous visage begins to shed; petals of light and dark breaking away and fluttering into nothing. Yet the figure standing before Elidibus is not the steady, familiar visage of  _ Emet-Selch. _ Not entirely, at least.

Soft Convocation robes rest around his body, and the violet markings denoting a follower of Zodiark are changed, bright blue in their stead. Long hair cascades over one shoulder, reaching just past his chest, light curls and waves that threaten to tangle. Uneasy eyes look through Elidibus’ mask, then to the side, and he turns on a heel to look behind him. He feels her, he does not see her, and everything is always, always so fuzzy afterward.

There is a distinct un-rightness of Emet-Selch’s appearance. It is unmistakably him and yet everything has been shifted slightly, his hair longer, his robes the wrong colours, his gloves with a full complement of talons. Further still how his soul is not the same hue, two-toned and guarded heavily, the tempering of his god not removed but effectively nullified in his current state.

_ Hero… hero..? _ he thinks hazily, feeling her presence so strongly, her aether so all-encompassing that he cannot fathom why he cannot see her. Not for a few moments until his fingers - each finger of the glove tipped with claws - drag through the viscous blood, shards of silver running within it, and his eyes widen. He had  _ consumed _ her, not just taking her body but every part of who she is and that hums through his own being; feelings of respect for Elidibus mired with an uneasiness he knows is not his own.

His hand covers his mouth and he falls back to his knees, hunched over, shaking.

“What have I done…?”

  
  


Despite the fierceness of the challenging hulking figure, the violence barely contained as he ploughs great troughs into the ground, the only motion made by the Emissary is to tilt his head upwards to meet the higher gaze. The twisted glyph is another clue as to the specific events that had taken place, and Elidibus flares his own to match, unflinching even as those deadly talons draw back to end the life of his host body.

But then Emet-Selch remembers himself, at least in part. The cool touch of claws to his neck is accepted for the greeting it is, and the Emissary is ever observant as the beast sheds the outer appearance - returning to that form different from the expected.

Interesting.

It is obvious that Emet-Selch is still in the phase where he lacks crystal clarity, such a thing had been common throughout the years whenever he had indulged his baser side, but he had not been quite so distraught for a very long time. Questions remain unasked, for now, as the other Ascian drops to his knees.

A brown boot decorated in gold takes a single step, then another, drawing white robes alongside the crumpled figure.

"I do not know, but perhaps releasing Hydaelyn's Champion is the first step of many to unraveling that mystery," speaks a smooth voice, beaked red mask tilting to look down at black robes. His glyph fades as he dismisses it, and Elidibus continues to wait.

  
  


Shivering breaths heave through his chest as he tries to piece things together, tries to remember with clarity what had happened. He had grown an instinct to immediately block out any memories of these indulgences, and even now with having the Warrior accept him for what he was beneath, he could not let that habit go.

While Emet-Selch physically makes no move to lash out at Elidibus as he steps close to his side, his aether bristles and curls threateningly, a monster still barely chained, ready to pull this consciousness back down below the water and drown him again in the blink of an eye. The Emissary would know this well, this uneasy liminality between bringing his control back and losing himself again.

_ Let her go? _

**No. No! She is** **_safe_ ** **now. He will take her.**

A growl rises in his throat, head barely above water, and his gaze turns to Elidibus, lifting his head from its gaze at his blood soaked hands. “You will not harm her,” his voice is distorted, but it is not a threat of a beast of instinct, but a plea of Emet-Selch.  _ He  _ knows that Elidibus would not raise a hand against her, but all his instincts burning like an inferno in his veins  _ demand _ that he be given that reassurance.

Even so, as he is, harboring a soul and body safe passage, the relief it gives him from the yoke he is so bound by makes it hard for him to truly want to let her go. “I did not… She is okay. I didn’t...” Painful memories push to the surface as he treads water, having been in this situation before. But different. Everything is so different this time. Nothing is the same.

  
  


Elidibus offers no words of comfort - though whether that is because he has none to give, or that he understands they will not be appropriately received by Emet-Selch's current state of mind, is difficult to see. His aether is a steady force against the prickly nature of the Architect's, remaining unreactive, a solid wall of contained power.

Still, he keeps his motions slow and well-projected - it would not do to startle the other man back into a bestial state, that would only serve to delay obtaining the information he seeks - as he extends one arm for Emet-Selch to see, palm up.

"Mine are the robes of an emissary, as you well know," again that steady intonation, gaze fixed upon the other Ascian. "Only in defense shall I raise my hand." A reassurance, in truth, but one made strictly on the Paragon's own terms. It should serve well enough to quell the primal instincts clawing at his fellow man.

But he can also see how his colleague remains torn, "Her Champion remains within you, if my assumptions are to be proven correct." He brings that extended hand to his chin in thought. "She has not been ended by your hand, though remaining this way indefinitely would perhaps be considered the same result."

  
  


There is still wildness in Emet-Selch's eyes as his gaze finds the steady one of the Emissary's, but as each minute passes his aether loosens, its surface smoother, but not unguarded. Elidibus offers him the careful movements that a keeper would demonstrate with their beasts, and while part of him feels indignant, he appreciates it, as he continues to piece together... His cheeks flush in hue.  _ How much had he seen? _

The reassurance goes far further than other motions, and his posture straightens slightly, no longer hunching over and trembling, just kneeling, unsure if his legs could bear his own weight. Fingers weave into the loose waves of his hair, as if he had never had it any other way. A remnant of his life, thousands and thousands of years ago.

"She will not give you reason to." There is a terseness to his words, but still, still his fingers do not curl to snap and bring her back. But he can, he knows that she and he cannot be separate truly any longer, not with her branded, not with him harboring a splinter of her within his chest.

Heaving a sigh through his nose, he swallows his instinct to yell, to shout, to fall back into monstrousness. How  _ dare _ he imply that what he has now could ever be the same as, the same as, the same...

He is not incorrect.

"Yes, Emissary. I... We..." he is not fearful in his hesitation to explain, but something else. "A lot has happened today. I am sure that not all of it will be to your preferences." he sounds almost fully himself, and he casts his gaze down, pressing his thumb and middle fingers together and snapping with a metallic ping as claws catch off each other. His teeth grit as he feels blended aether pulling from his body, pale blue light before him as the Warrior coalesces, whole and solely herself once more.

  
  


"It is a bold stroke to assume what preferences I may hold, and one that must needs be discarded," a reprimand, but a gentle one. Ever had Emet-Selch been driven to instability during times such as these, in the after of these such events. Still, the distinct lack of permanent maiming and death in this particular occasion could only serve to benefit them, despite the identity of the other member at the heart of everything. Elidibus watches as the Warrior reforms, a thoughtful quirk to his lips.

True to his word, he makes no further action other than to observe.

Muted cerulean pulses, flaring several times before dispersing and leaving the Hero's form behind. She is exactly as she was before their joining, before two bodies were made into one, every detail preserved in perfection from the ribbons of her ruined clothes, to the blood - her blood - still wet, which dries slowly upon her abdomen and lower body. Body hovering in the air, suspended for several moments, her eyes flutter open.

Through sludge, she comes to awareness. Emet-Selch can feel the way her thoughts start, faltering once or twice as the haze permeates thickly through her mind. Not unlike waking from a deep sleep, it was, though from the color and content of her thoughts it is obvious she was entirely aware of all that had transpired while she had ceased to be, within him. But there is no fear, no hesitation, only an embrace through their connection - two connections, now, through aether as before and now through shards of soul carried between two vessels.

Feet find the ground, but not stability, and she takes a step only to lurch forward, fog still clouding her senses. She does not fall, however, only lowering herself to her knees and encroaching into the Architect's space. The Emissary may as well not be there for as much mind she pays him, focused entirely on her love, the man in front of her. Small hands, mortal hands,  _ her _ hands cup Emet-Selch's face, fingers lingering in his hair, gentle touches upon his skin.

"My dearest Hades, my dear monster," all of the love she feels, every positive emotion she can dredge up - how wonderful it felt to be joined as they were, how beautiful it was to  _ be _ him - is showered upon him. Ancient words slip from her lips, dripping with their connection and all it means to her,  _ "Thank you." _

Within them both, in that space they still yet share, she coils close to him. Those chains had been loosened, and she was loath to allow them to tighten upon him once again. Not while she was present and able to allow him space to  _ breathe. _ When she is firmly wedged between him and that dark connection, she leans in to kiss him, chaste and sweet.

**_"I love you,"_ ** words fall like stones from her lips, sung with her soul, that old tongue still spoken heedless of their audience. Why should she care? It remained true.

  
  


Emet-Selch offers Elidibus a withering look and a wry smile, before his face pulls into a grimace as the last dregs of her aether leave him. Fully intact, everything preserved as if not a single moment had passed from when he made that last mark on her body. As her feet touch and wobble on the ground, he opens his arms to bring her into a close embrace, his long hair tickling at her shoulder and neck.

Drawing her back to gaze at her, his eyes full of  _ relief, _ clawed fingers reverently stroke and cup her face and the soft pads of his fingers glide across her cheeks as his lips find hers in a tender kiss. “Aren’t you beautiful, so beautiful, hero, so beautiful,” he whispers, to himself or to hear is unclear as he rumbles and  _ trills _ monstrously, his lips finding hers again, and then her cheek, her jaw, her chin.

Even separate now, his love, reverence and monstrous adoration is almost overwhelming with how it resonates through the brand on her, but rather than cold it is the warmth of an embering coal fire, shards of glittering pitch roused into becoming dregs of soothing sunlight.

The Emissary all but forgotten in the moment, he croons in a beastly way to her, pressing his head against hers, slipping back toward primal instincts and holding her tight, the loose wrap of a veloured tendril keeping her ever closer. Her name spills from his lips,  _ ”I would keep you safe for all of eternity, if I did not enjoy holding you so much.” _ His words are woven with a very serious tone, petering out into mirth as he cradles her jaw once more, his lips pulling, parting into a sharp toothed smile, golden eyes dimly glowing. How easy, how simple it would be for him to slide all the way back into that abyss.

A tendril slides across the brand, sticky with drying blood, he trills a low intonation.  **_”Still hurting, my dear?”_ ** He hopes not, but oh, what a crude thing it is. A crude and beautiful thing. A slow outward breath escapes his mouth as she keeps his bindings loose, catching her lips once more, his voice barely above a whisper as he responds in kind.

**_”I love you too.”_ **

  
  


Shame is ever a thing of the past and never once does it occur to her to feel it, not while she rests in the embrace of her mate, bonded now, deeper than even death would be able to reach. She purrs as his hair tumbles over them, a silken waterfall drawn as a curtain to shade their affections from the Emissary's gaze. His relief is echoed back, sweet pulses of reassurance that she is  _ here, _ whole of body and solid in his arms.

The pit of her chest rumbles as a flash of teeth and claws stir in their ethereal sea, painted nebulas and blankets of stars warmed by this new starshine - no longer cool but  _ warm _ within, comfort and coziness twining together with love, the brand opening an entire new avenue of feeling through which their emotions may traverse, coursing through paths within that she never knew she had.

Mortal hands skim along the surface of the tendril he holds her with, enjoying the velvety feel as the last of the mist fades from her mind. **_"Maybe someday I could do the same for you,"_ ** and even as she speaks the words she decides that yes, at some point in the future she would have the roles reversed. It is a deep urge, born of the base instinct to protect - yet for the moment she recognizes his need to keep  _ her  _ safe.

**_"I must admit, as much as I enjoyed being you, as beautiful as it was..."_ ** she trails off before soundly kissing him, right on that fanged grin.  **_"I find being able to kiss you is something I'd rather keep doing."_ **

Torn clothing is slid aside and her entire body shivers when he touches the brand upon her abdomen. Pain? No, nothing so vulgar as that, and she impresses this upon him through that which he caresses gently. But it is sensitive, tender in the way newly grown skin is delicate - deeper than flesh, trembling through her very aether with each soft touch.

It thrills her, though. Despite what they had just shared, heat blooms in her belly - overactive from such a new thing for her systems to acclimate to, this ancient and raw  _ magnificent  _ thing. She does not seek to haul him back from the edge of the cliff, but nor does she attempt to drive him over.

She remains at his side, as she promised.

  
  


His vision is entirely focused on her, tunneled so far that the strikingly pale and gilded sheen of Elidibus’ robes are all but faded to nothing in his eyes. She is here and the connection, new and fresh not just for her, but for him as well, consumes most of his awareness as her saccharine adoration blankets him. He makes a soft, pleased sound as her fingers grace across soft, veloured flesh, ever sensitive to touch in those pliant and flexible limbs. Her words though, they draw a curious sound from his throat. Not a haughty, imperial chuckle but an earnest, smiling  _ laugh. _

**”How preposterous, hero. How utterly ridiculous. As if I would so eagerly throw myself into the jaws of a beast as you did.”** His words are laced with mirth and sarcasm, and while she can be quite sure he would not, at least not right now… she feels a little tremble deep inside him of excitement.

Content to lean into the kiss she places on his lips, even as he smiles and laughs,  _ laughs _ with an almost tuneful cadence, such a strange sound, he holds her ever lovingly, a thrum of possessiveness to the curl of clawed fingers at her waist and back. Breaking off, his lips press against her cheek, her jaw, her neck, and as that craving warmth ignites again within her, his eyes tip upwards, dimly lit winter gold meeting hers, a low, monstrous rumble deep within his chest. Breath hot on her neck, his aether curls tightly, his own want for her sparking, fluttering to life.

That gaze lingers a few moments longer until his head dips and he kisses her shoulder, her chest, his grip sliding and a gentle push laying her back until his kisses reach down to the bare skin exposed by sharp claws, where blood still lays fresh on her body. The monstrousness that sits at the surface of his mind dotes, the Emissary all but forgotten, and soft lips and sharp teeth part to allow him to lap at the blood drawn from marking her, tending to the damage wrought by anchoring himself to her. Her blood is distinctly not-right like this, stained with the cloying sweetness and ozone fizz of light, but it is  _ hers _ and that alone makes him shiver with the delight of it. Just able enough to mind himself, his body lurches as he stems his want to change, wanting this to be more  _ mortal, _ faintly aware of Elidibus’ presence and some part of him still ashamed; for all the times the Emissary had to pull him back up after losing himself.

But oh, oh how he wants, and that want still brings about some change, in the hue of his arms, creeping onto his face, and how the faint sound of a crown pulling together rings in her ears, and the soft velvety touches of additional tendrils bracing her as his tongue laves across her skin, revealing the deep plum purple, shimmering, glittering nebula “hue” of the brand he has seared into her body.

  
  


Every sensation is elevated, she finds, whether that is because of this new tether they have placed upon themselves or the reconstitution of her entire being, she does not know, does not  _ care.  _ That tiny thrill of excitement is catalogued and filed away for later as the here and now flood her senses. His laugh and then his growl reverberate inside of her, setting fire to her blood, the slow heat roaring to high flames within moments. A flash of memory, of the two of them, fully monstrous, tearing at one another, reveling in  _ all  _ they are together, streaks through her thoughts.

Not this time, she knows. But the thought _ boils _ her blood even as her lover lavishes tender attentions upon her flesh. When he moves her she goes with no resistance, his soft lips turning to wet heat as she is cleaned in this most primal fashion.

Memories of what that tongue can do from a  _ mortal _ mouth, when Emet-Selch is fully clad in his false flesh, cause her to shudder, and yet now the touch of him as he sups upon her own blood - past mortal now, but not quite  _ him _ \- forces a hitch in steady breaths. He strains against himself, misguided  _ shame _ reaching her and she  _ denies _ it vehemently. But rather than snarl, she croons, an echo of his own words fed through emotion and nonverbal.  **_Don’t strain. Be with me. Be us._ **

Satisfaction fills her as her king dons his crown, when true color spreads across flesh, accompanying the other tendrils that find her skin. Valiantly she attempts to touch them all, nails scoring over them in lieu of claws, digits grasping, squeezing, titillating what she may reach of those many limbs. All is in vain, however, when his tongue streaks over the brand itself. Already sensitive, the sinful feel of wet muscle dragging over this new connection injects a pure shot of  _ ecstasy, _ burning through her soul, plunging her vision back into a haze - this time of pleasure.

Moans, ragged - unable to be held back even if she were to  _ want _ to do so - spill from her lips, pulled from the bowels of her desire, her being, and she  _ writhes  _ within the embrace of those tentacles. He continues, each stroke driving her more and more wild, eyes dilating, but it is when the color of the brand is revealed - their connection, his very soul within hers - that her pupils all but swallow the color of her eyes.

Whines, small, broken cries, keen from her and she begs, " _ Please, _ Hades." Though she does not have the mind to know what it is she  _ wants. _ She cannot, she is far too gone from merely this.

  
  


The grip of gloved, taloned fingers tightens on her sides, and soon threads and seams tear to allow long, tarnished gold claws through, the pads of his fingers rubbing, curling to press firmly against her skin. His breath is straining, puffs of desperate, heated air washing across claimed, starry markings and tender mortal skin. A strangled sound tears free from his throat and his lips and nose press firmly at that oversensitive skin, monstrousness pressurised, waiting for something to give to subsume his mortal senses once again.

His spine arches as her nails dig and drag into soft, pliant velvet flesh, choking out a profanity;  _ “By His grace...” _ His teeth find momentary purchase on the skin of her lower belly, holding it for just a moment as she writhes, the sounds she makes pouring white hot fire down his throat to his pelvis, his host body giving an involuntary, shuddering thrust at the air.

It’s not until she  _ begs, _ until she  _ pleads _ his name that he breaks, and even then he holds on, now painfully aware of the Emissary’s observance, mumbling a rapid “NononoNonoNo,” into her inner thigh, holding, holding so tightly as he  _ whimpers... _

And then changes.

Not entirely, no, but enough to satisfy the inferno burning him up within, enough to let off the pressure of his desire. Enough to keep him cognizant, not driven by his id and feral desires. Enough to loom over her with a degree of monstrousness. Enough to gaze at her with illuminated white eyes. Enough to have two firm, taloned palms lifting her, cradling as his lips press tenderly once at the brand; he is trembling and she can feel this in touch and in tether, because soon his want for her overwhelms his tenderness and gold claws grip at the shredded clothing she wears, slicing and ripping through it until scraps hang around her ankles. Fervently his lips press to her folds, a textured, notched tongue taking a long and hungry drag across hot, needful flesh.

A rumbling groan escapes his lips as he tastes her, kissing again, softly mouthing her clit before pressing his tongue firmly to it and circling, once, twice, then dipping his head to slip tongue between folds, just to tease, to touch just barely deeper of her body… and then sinks deep within, tasting lingering, cool darkness mixed with her own heated arousal.

Claws rip and tear at his own robes until the centre splits open, hot air shivering from his nose as aching, swollen flesh is revealed to the air, clear fluid wetting the tip of it as with each twitch more wells to the surface. Lavisciously, one of his own tendrils wraps and  _ squeezes  _ needfully, slow strokes milking his body. Hips push forward against his own touch and his lips press firmer against her, withdrawing his tongue to suck firmly at the sensitive bundle of nerves at the apex of her folds. As much as he teases himself it is the sounds from her that he truly craves. Gold claws trail upwards, their cool metallic surfaces chilling her skin as they slide beneath her shirt, to her chest where soft pads tease and pluck softly at her nipples, thumbs slowly rolling stiffened peaks.

Each time he feels her breath draw short, her writhing more intense, his ministrations slow, tongue not circling but slowly, firmly dragging its textured surface across her clit. Veloured tentacle, soaked with slippery pre, easily glides across aching flesh, greedily seeking his own pleasure once again while denying, drawing hers out. A thrill of a thought sears across the bond, the want to hear her driven almost to madness, heaving sobs, pleading for him to make her come, writhing and spasming in the hold of scythe-clawed hands and soft, strong tendrils. He would want to hear her sing forever, the greedy, monstrous magus that Hades is.

  
  


A snarl tears itself from her when he resists - still - the change of who he  _ is, _ but when he allows himself to turn it morphs into a growl of  _ want. _ That fierceness, that desire for him to consume her, that was lit within even from their first coupling in this way, rises. His tenderness is overtaken and she could not be happier, reveling as he strips her clothes from her, as multiple limbs hold and squeeze and  _ touch. _ She is nude in front of the world, in front of a maybe-foe, but all attentions are focused on her monstrous lover.

There is a flicker, Darkness on the edge of where they are and the Emissary does not act - he steps just barely away, as Emet-Selch swells in size, but she is far beyond caring what Elidibus is doing, is going to do. How can she? When filthy, hot,  _ soaking _ muscle moves against her. When it delves between her folds and presses, sucks, flicks against that most sensitive nub so  _ insistently. _

Her chest presses into his fingers and her body squirms without her controlling it. Dimly she is aware of his own taking of pleasure, but as he edges her close to and then away - straddling that knife's edge of orgasm, keeping her  _ just _ shy - her world is narrowed to naught but tentacle and tongue and the  _ throbbing _ in her groin, now.

The thought undoes her. A spearhead directly to her heart, his image of her wantonly shrieking, calling for him. Despite his intentions to keep the end from her it crashes over her entire body, vision going white, voice cutting out mid-cry as the force of it steals the breath from her lungs. But he does not stop. He licks and fucks her with his tongue and pulls her through the duration and into the aftershocks.

And still she is hungry. She still wants  _ more. _

As greedy as he is, she matches him, and soon that vision of his, that unspoken  _ want _ through their connection, has tears streaking down her face, skin flushed, unable to actually form coherent language. Only screams and gasps and shuddering breaths, now, as her mortal form seizes in his hands again and again. The sensitivity continues to climb, and with what little higher thought remains to her, she gathers all she feels and wants and  _ wants _ and  **_lances_ ** it directly into the core of him.

His vision come true, his desire made exquisitely real, but she would take him with her.

  
  


Every twitch, jerk and overstimulated writhe of her body makes him croon inwardly, teasing her to the brink again and again with slow curls of his tongue against clit and monstrously hungry laps of her inner walls, tasting her own arousal as it overtakes the lingering taste of his own aetheric darkness. A moan rises from his throat, reverberating and his self-satisfaction pouring against her; how proud he is to make her cry and writhe so beautifully for him.

**_Sing, sing, sing,_ ** he begs, he  _ demands, _ kissing aching folds and throbbing bundle of nerves, a soft sliding touch of enamel against her before lips close and suck greedily for a moment before ceasing with another soft kiss. Even as her climax suddenly crashes through her body, he does not stop, only wanting to hear more as a tendril teases her entrance for a moment before spearing deep, letting out a sigh of deep satisfaction as he feels her body intimately squeeze at silky, malleable muscle, curling and twisting to press and slowly rub at anterior flesh.

**_Mine._ ** Slipping further from himself, all too eager now to feed and revel in his baser instincts, his aether threatens to subsume her once again, a touch around her throat of hungry jaws, his soul reaching further, further, until it finds the cold, unyielding wall of force that is Elidibus. He does not flinch back but instead leans against it, crooning a plea for the Emissary to fall with him, with her; a moon to settle amongst the stars and infinite, abyssal nebulae. So loud, he begs, that even the Warrior hears him imploring the white-robed Ascian to be with him, with  _ them. _

And then his vision dims and his hearing, a high-pitched drone as her own thoughts become a reprisal of his. He feels her heaving sobs in his arms, growling against sensitive and blood-flushed folds, teeth grazing with strained control.  _ Yes, yes, yes,  _ **_sing_ ** he hungrily growls, the one tentacle deep within rocking slowly, hard thrusts that fuck her through her climax, through her aftershocks, and still, then, even more. He cannot hold back, not when she wails and gibbers, not when her body squeezes and milks so wonderfully, and his body lurches, hips bucking into the tendril wrapped around his shaft, soaked with arousal as it pulses and twitches. Shifting his head, he presses his face firmly to her inner thigh as he tenses, trying to hold back but oh, he cannot, he could not, not when everything he wanted to hear, to see-

A strangled gasp fills his lungs and his teeth sink into her thigh, holding tight as his climax sears through him, electric and near violent in its intensity, the tendril around his shaft squeezing, milking as hot white spills from his tip, his body jerking, releasing the toothsome hold of her thigh to howl in ecstasy.

It should be enough to end any one person but he only finds himself wanting more, and even after his release slows to nothing more than stray drips and strained throbs, he does not stop the slow squeeze on himself. He sweetly trills her name to her, though barely hidden, ravenous lust tangles into his voice, and his lips and teeth move to softly kiss, graze and lap at the brand just above her pelvis, his breath short and his desire to fill her freely pouring across the strings of aether bonding them together.

  
  


She is insensate.

His tongue is relentless, his touch unceasing, his begging and claiming again and  _ again _ and  **_again_ ** driven her out of any semblance of coherent thought. Her chest heaves for desperate breaths, her heart a staccato beat hammering behind her ribs, and she is no more aware of the spasms of her body than she is of his own climax. The flash of pain as he finishes, as he  _ keeps going _ drives her over the edge again - and he is almost cruel in his constant stimulation of that sensitive flesh, in the way he bays at her to keep crooning.

And sing she does, howling, keening, voice hoarse and cracking now as she clamps down vice like on the tendril inside of her. Stars burst behind her eyes and within their joined soul as she is lost, entirely, to the sensations. Hades begs for the other to join them and she would not disagree even were she able to - somewhere, deep inside, her monster slavers with want, this new idea practically a  _ feast _ for them both, the monster within the the monster who ravishes her.

The obscene debauchery in front of Elidibus seemingly has no effect on the Emissary, for all he reacts to it. But even he cannot be indifferent to the pleading, the begging, the  _ force _ with which Emet-Selch - no,  _ Hades, _ now, all titles forgotten, temporarily cast aside in his monstrosity - seeks to draw him in.

And the truth is, as the Ascian takes a step towards the furiously rutting pair, he is more than intrigued at the prospect. They, as they are, now defy  _ everything, _ leading to this point, Light and Dark, monster and man, and Elidibus does not even need to ask his questions to glean the answers to them - that glimmering brand upon mortal flesh, that blending of souls, is proof enough.

Another step, an acquiescence, the acceptance of an invitation - hesitant though it may be. His indulgences have been few and far between, but this? His duty has ever been the balance, and as the icy, deep dark of his own soul brushes against them, he finds that balance given form.

The dark yawns wide within him - for not all monsters appear monstrous - and he waits.

  
  


As his tongue sweeps over her inner thigh, lapping up freshly drawn blood he cannot help but rumble posessively, self-assuredly as he tastes the familiar fruit-filled sweetness he knows as more belonging to his own blood, sticky and smoky and almost enough to entirely overwhelm the cloying fizz of ozone that offends his senses. Just as her body begins to slacken off, even with the slow, firm rocks of a tendril inside her, his lips find her clit again, driving her to gasp and choke and sob again, a smile creeping across his face, letting off but keeping her from regaining her sensibilities, drawing her into smaller, gold-tipped hands, holding her against his chest where she can fully feel how deeply he purrs. He eventually lets her down around his waist, the fluids of her arousal running down her thigh as one tendril continues to overstimulate her, curling outwardly so it may press against that sensitive peak of nerves in tandem. He turns her to press her back against him, almost as if to proudly show off his mate, his claim and all he has done to her.

**_What a pretty song..._ ** he trills, knowing she will not hear or even comprehend. His tongue drags across her throat, neck and up her jaw to her cheek. He would not allow her to regain even a single word, only wanting her sobbing and writhing and squeezing around soft veloured flesh; not a single one of these thoughts are guarded, and it is not just her that is audience to those thoughts but Elidibus as well.

The Emissary’s movements are not unnoticed, and while his eyes are but pearly white the other Ascian knows that his gaze is piercing, hungry, wanting as his aether readily lances into that arctic, endless darkness, the sheer chill almost hissing off of his own solar warmth, arching his back but not recoiling, digging in, pulling, not just inviting but demanding he share this space with the Warrior and him.

In between deep, self-inflicted shudders of pleasure, one large scythe-clawed hand brings itself to gently, so tenderly and softly run along the edges of Elidibus’ mask and hood, trembling with barely there self-control as the back of it rests against the white-robed Ascian’s chest, the tip of it pulling threads as it hooks into it to pull him against the both of them. A thousand thoughts and wants pour from him, hungry and shivering with the frigid cold he has sunk himself into even as he draws it closer.

_ Soft lips caressing him intimately, _

_ Having his Warrior cry out for both of them, _

_ Tongue trailing, teasing the Emissary’s body, drifting, drifting lower, _

_ A bite, a taste of the abyss just below Elidibus’ skin, _

His breath draws shorter, his gaze breaking to press against the top of the Warrior’s head. He holds her posessively, oh so jealous and greedy, and yet despite this he allows her senses to come back, easing his incensed want for her to be delirious; for as he does, inwardly he takes a hand of his monstrous lover, allowing her to touch the familiar, yet different cold of Elidibus. There are only monsters here, and Hades knows, even through his pleasure-addled mind, that the Emissary is just as monstrous in soul as either of them.

**_Fall. Indulge._ **

A soft noise from her pulls away that little sense and self-control he had shakily put together, and he presses his hips, sawing his own aching, heated flesh against her inner thigh again as his body craves  _ her, _ but craves  _ him, _ and is too greedy to decide.

  
  


The Champion's mortal body hangs limply from where Hades holds her, cries long gone guttural, body soaked in fluids,  _ dripping _ with her lust. That form is a display, a taunt, not by the beast which holds her but by two of them together, for only in unity could they achieve this depravity - and yet still they desire  _ more, _ as Hades delves deep, and Elidibus recognizes the begging for for it is.

The monster without desires the monster within.

His chosen vessel is smaller than most, Emet-Selch in full mortal guise would tower over him by nearly a fulm, so the creature Hades has allowed himself to become  _ dwarfs _ the Emissary. He is pulled close, not quite touching, those lecherous desires hurled at him one after the other, a deluge, thoughts never before brought to light. Though the body is small, within remains another thing entirely.

They would have him? Have the Emissary, Elidibus, he who is closest to the Dark?

So be it.

It is not a moon that appears in their aetherial sea, painted with heavenly bodies and stellar colors and all manner of wonders. No, it is the caliginous void between the stars, gargantuan, and it pools up from beneath their feet as he stands before them, robed even here. There is tension in his shoulders, his fingers open and close, flexing aimlessly as he looks upon them, an ocean of stygian field beneath and behind him - a shroud, a mockery of many wings as he stares from beneath a smear of red, edges blurry, more like carmine blood than mask.

He takes a single step, and that mantle of night  _ billows, _ blowing outward, upward, reaching for the nearest spots of brightness and swallowing them whole - the tenebrous thing is hungry in and of itself, it seems, though that would be a false tale to tell of it. The abyss coils, flexing around and about the lone figure in brightest white, glittering gold flashing as he moves, and all at once Hades and the Warrior are shown the truth.

The Dark  _ is _ Elidibus.

It is then, that the Hero is given her respite. Enough to barely gaze upon the newcomer in their shared space, head lolling, eyes coming to blearily focus on Elidibus. The familiar touch of her lover, the cool dark of him - warm now, tempering her heat - is nothing compared to the glacial feel of the Emissary. So cold is he that it  _ burns _ her, but she was ever one to charge forward, uncaring of what  _ should not be, _ choosing to make what  _ will be so. _

A small, mortal hand reaches out and it is not the Ascian who holds her but the Hero herself who grasps the other immortal, he who is whole in soul, devoted in purpose, and tugs him to her incomplete form. As before the Light spins in one hand, the Darkness in another, and her lips meet his - not to devour, not yet, but to  **_show._ ** He has no chains for her to slip between and nor would he desire it, for he and his duty are one in the same. Still, what she has done - what they both, now three, continue to do - is revolutionary.

The shadow shudders, breath hitching.

Outwardly, the two crooning, growling words ring inside of the Emissary's mind. A hand, gloved in brown and tipped with golden claws, reaches out. A beat of hesitation, before he  _ chooses, _ that clawed gauntlet caressing hot, hard,  _ wanting _ flesh.

Together it is, then.

  
  


The dense, thick darkness that arrives before them is a sight Hades only faintly remembers; having seen it, some time long ago, a hazy blur like so many memories of monstrous indulgences, but its chill makes him shiver, not from its temperature, no, but the way that some part of him still loves, craves that abyssal lightlessness; and how could he not, having only known it for centuries and centuries? Still, he remains guardedly at her side, for while he welcomes the aetherically monstrous, he would not have him scour the radiant, celestial garden that he and her tend to with such passion. Stellar lights shift and shimmer, recoiling from the ravenous darkness that already creeps and devours. Hades understands that  _ hunger _ all too well and what he has done to try and quell it. Only now, only this time has he finally found himself able to. Elidibus would, he  _ will _ have his fill but even as desperate and wanting as Hades is he first and foremost guards the thing that is most precious to him, that which made him  _ warm _ again.

Embodying warmth is so strange to him, after being this hyperborean denizen for millennia, but the shimmer of stardust becomes denser, brighter to offset the starving darkness, not yet in harmony, not yet part of the nightscape she and he have crafted. Elidibus is not unwelcome, no, far from it, but while Hades shows no fear for sinking into that cold lightlessness, having her by his side makes him jealous, protective.

He leaves her side, only for his presence to sweep up to the side of Elidibus' shoulder, stooping to let sharp teeth make their presence known in his periphery. With two souls combined, here, he knows he could easily harm, if not unmake Elidibus were he to break his word of only striking in self-defense. The growl increases in volume as the burning rime pours over the warrior, feeling the pain that sears her aether... And then stops as her lips brush the Emissary's, mollified.

For it could never be clearer in this moment that for all the white-robed Ascian witnessed Hades do to her, it has  _ always _ been her with all the might, all the power. He rumbles a softer sound now, his touch creeping across his side and waist, claws sinking through delicate white fabric to pinprick softness beneath. Not a warning touch, far from it, but a touch of desperate  _ want. _ As she presses her lips to Elidibus', his own lips grace his jaw and neck, hot, wet tongue grooming across his throat.

He is almost a thrall to her like this, with how he protects, how he loves and adores and dotes and how at a thought she can soothe him from a monstrous, protective rage.

A physical sensation, one that crackles through his body brings him back to the waking world with a gasp, bowing his back and pulling the Warrior tighter against his waist. Gold claws press tight into her flesh but draw just short of breaking skin. Letting out a low, sonorous moan his gaze lowers, swallowing his want, his anticipation as the feeling, the  _ sight _ of a glove-tipped hand caressing slick, aching,  _ needing _ flesh is enough to drive almost to the brink, a strangled cry escaping his throat, slickness weeping from his tip. Such a simple touch given and such an electrified response, his hips pushing against Elidibus’ palm, greedy, always greedy for  _ more. _

The tendril that was wrapped around his length uncurls, soaked in his release, and dips,  _ dives _ eagerly under the silken white robes, smearing a sticky trail directly beneath, coating pale skin and underlayers in his own self-satisfaction. Scything talons that had previously curled against those robes flex, a twitch all told from the shock of Elidibus’ bold caress, and fabric gives way, individual threads snapping, straining, breaking for moments until the rest under strain are  _ sundered, _ exposing collar and the top of his chest, the tip of the claw just barely holding onto threads not yet broken.

_ Ah, what a sight. _

The tendril beneath robes slithers higher, up past chest, across throat to cradle his jaw, leaving a wet, viscous trail of release across his skin. Gold-tipped fingers softly caress the Warrior, a slow teasing touch as one glides up across her body, stealing a sharp noise as he flicks across firm and teased nipples on his journey to tip her chin up, limp, still physically exhausted. He would bid her gaze upon Elidibus, to watch - at least, to the best of her comprehension; the respite he offers is only mild enough to preserve her from mortal damage as the tendril sheathed deep within rocks and curls, plucking nerves like strings. His free hand slips down to where she rests at his waist, between her legs for cool, gilded nails to offer a soothing tease from the heated, sore throbbing of her clit.

**_Look at him,_ ** he purrs.

**_Look at her,_ ** he  _ sings. _

Within, past this private lake of aether, he may be an Emissary,  _ the _ Emissary, but he is in a space where these titles matter not and count for nothing. No, no, and Hades would make this known as he leans in candidly, lips mouthing gentle kisses that eventually turn into touches of warm enamel and hot, hungry tongue on Elidibus' skin. Barely above a whisper, his aether sinking, tangling into the monstrous Dark that the other Ascian carries, subliming in his endless, hungry shade, he purrs **_his name_ ** to him, quiet enough that she cannot hear; a mercy, truly told, for all the power she wields over him with  _ his _ name, but he would make sure that it is known that there is no place for titles now.

Long talons curl against the other Unsundered, and the Warrior, and he growls lowly, wantingly, fearlessly of them both.

**_Mine._ **

  
  


There is no protest given by the Emissary when the mantle of his office is torn, white robes, brown underlayers, all clothing rent to expose his upper torso to the night air. The cloth around his neck in particular, however, remains undamaged, soiled by the pleasure of the beast. He pays his new state of undress no mind merely continuing his ministrations upon Emet-Selch's - Hades' - erection, teasing with those three golden claws, stroking with the material of his gloves. The mask tilts up to gaze upon the face of the monster, upon the woman he holds, and a smile curls onto those lips, gradually, that of a  _ predator. _

His other hand, having hung at his side until this point, lifts to caress the dripping tendril that wraps around his form. Slowly,  _ deliberately, _ the point of a single needle-tipped claw sinks into pliant flesh. It pierces, just barely, just enough to bring pain, before it is joined by another, and finally the third. He watches as the Hero spasms again, apex of nerves teased beyond her ability to resist as she crests yet again. But her eyes lock upon the Emissary, and watches as best as she is able through the haze.

With that same leisurely movement, Elidibus drags the claws over the tendril, ensuring that both pleasure  _ and _ pain would spring forth from this touch, from this supremely sensitive limb. The stroke complete, he does it a second time, and a third, repeating the action until no reachable space is left unmarked. Temporary goal accomplished, the focus of that masked gaze falls once more upon the monster.

And he brings his lips to the very tip of that arousal, tongue flicking out to make itself known, a single swipe over hungry flesh. But all too fast that talented, silver tongue disappears once again,  _ a tease. _

In the realm of the soul he takes what the Warrior gives him, the vivid picture of Light and Dark together, of  _ harmony, _ and the insidious darkness slows its inevitable march forward. He returns her kiss, soft lips moving together, and as he feasts upon her mouth - however gently - so do more stars meet their end, feeding him.

But they do not take too much. The Champion sighs against his front, breath splashing across his face, and the pitch only consumes enough to keep pace with the creation. New bodies are formed, flaring into being, more than it devours, and so the starfield remains plentiful. More than that, it seeps further and further into their private space, here, this connected realm that until now existed solely for they two. It sinks and twists and expands, but does not taint, no, instead it folds itself into the tapestry of the night sky.

The blackness between grows deeper, darker, but does not seek to smother the light within.

**_His name_ ** echoes within his abyss, spoken by lips who have not used it in millennia. It gives him pause, a series of thoughts, of decisions, cascading through the Emissary more quickly than either Hero or Hades may catch. Grateful for the discretion, but he  _ shudders _ as the sound courses through him. The robes of his office are brilliantly white against his own shadow - casting it only here, within - the scintillating sheen of metallic gold throwing glimmers of light as he shifts.

He pulls back from her, from Hades, but only far enough to place a palm against each of their chests. His fingers tense, and suddenly his arms up to the shoulder plunge into inky blackness, flaring from him in great gouts of tenebrous gloom. And with the softest of pushes, those hands sink  _ into _ the chests of his two would-be lovers, dissolving instantly, frigid cold, melding with them at this most intimate of levels.

**_Mine as well, then._ **

Despite his literal size and imposing appearance, between the Warrior and Elidibus, Hades could be noted as the smallest monster of the three. Still, this does not temper his haughtiness even in the presence of two souls far more monstrous than his own. He purrs in satisfaction as the other Ascian caresses hot, needy flesh, his breath hitching as claws ever so lightly grace across delicate skin, making his arousal twitch in response, clear precum oozing from his tip in anticipation. A moment of wariness can be seen on his face at the smile Elidibus gives, a split-second pang of  _ fear _ that makes his body tighten in a twisted, excited arousal.

It is not entirely without merit as a needle sharp, gold claw presses against soft, soaked velvet skin, piercing its flexible hide. Hades grits his teeth, baring them, sharp and shark-like, unable to tear his gaze away as Elidibus presses and sinks another claw into oh-so-sensitive flesh, making the appendage twitch and jerk, and then the third. The tendril trembles, pressing against his throat, curling into fabric as fingers would curl into flesh for purchase against pain, against  _ pleasure. _ Hades sees that expression, but a fleeting glint of eye contact as the gold claws then  _ rake _ down the appendage, slow, agonising,  _ delighting _ as the sharp points split skin open enough to weep starry, nebula-swirled blood that sticks like molasses anywhere it touches.

The tendril twitches, writhes and violently convulses with each slow pull of Elidibus’ claws, Hades’ voice rising into a toothsome growl, and then a snarl, monstrous meeting monstrous in violent delight, drool seeping from between his teeth, down his chin and neck as claws rake and tentacle writhes, smearing tarry blood onto white, brown and violet fabric and the Ascian’s throat. Just below Hades’ eyes, a matching pair barely crack open, his cheekbones prominent, flesh faded into accented peaks of bone-metal as he sinks, further, further into base, primal needs. That repeated sensation is all he knows in those moments, only aware of the Warrior’s peak from how it runs hot through their bond. His cock twitches and bobs needfully and when soft lips brush over, when warm, wet tongue washes across, he nearly falls apart again, barely missing the mark and his growling turns into a  _ whimper. _

_ ”Please,” _ he begs, almost silently, his jaw going slack to take staccato breaths.

In the lake of aether that he and the Hero share, the Dark slows its consumption of light, hungry, but not the same uncontrolled ravenousness that Hades has exhibited. No, it eventually settles into a balance, as all things do where Elidibus is concerned, suffusing into the sky, plucking lights from it to sate itself. As that balance settles, Light and Dark mingle and weave together just as they had when Hades and the Warrior gave themselves to each other. Elidibus is not just welcomed, but _embraced,_ **wanted** by the two of them.

As she offers kisses onto the white-robed man, Hades finds himself greedy, envious,  _ jealous _ of it, all but a monster, crooning a soft sound and hungrily trailing kisses from his jaw, down his neck and pressing lips to his shoulder, his aether crackling as lips part, teeth pulling at robes, a beast just as hungry for a taste of aether within as he is for the taste of blood without.

But he is stopped, just short, gently pressed back. Four pearly white eyes looking at him with a patient, yet hungry confusion. A chill presses to his chest, a light-absorbing darkness creeping up Elidibus’ hand and arm. It is comforting to him, this familiar abyssal chill, but he is not prepared as his fingers and hand plunge into his chest. Rime collects through his body, chilling all but the little shard of the Hero’s soul nestled in his breast, and it ignites a feeling of, a feeling of…

Not one feeling, no, but a myriad, a hundred feelings with words that do not exist in any language he knows or has known. Adoration, want, lust, love, respect; such simple words for what he cannot vocalise, the only sound being a soft groan as Elidibus’ aether tangles and osmoses into his. Gold-tipped fingers slide up the blackness coating his arm to stroke along his jaw, one of those talons softly, ever so gently hooking beneath the edge of his red mask, a light lifting pressure.

**_Let me see you._ **

Notched tongue flits out, across his lips and he pleads further.

**_Let me taste you._ **

  
  


The very tip of his tongue peeks from his mouth as Elidibus, achingly slowly, pulls the claws from flexible flesh with a soft sucking sound. Needy pleas do not fall on deaf ears, but it is with calculated eye contact that those metal facsimiles are brought to a smiling mouth. Rather than answer the whimpering cries of the beast before him, Elidibus licks tarry, nebulous blood from each of the three claws, in turn. Only when they are clean, when that wicked mouth quirks into a smirk, does he reach forward.

But his aim is the woman, slipping his fingers to rest upon her person, stained fabric of his gloves tracing over the designs of the brand upon her skin, he watches as she responds almost curiously, that same observant air as before despite the intimacy of it all. His thumb dips lower, replacing Hades' own limbs to brush upon her sensitive folds, her swollen clit, the tentacle itself in the space where it pumps in and out of her. He does not delve inside, no, merely exploring through fabric and metal.

As if satisfied with how he forced the other man to wait, he brings Hades' cock to his mouth once more. It is steady, how Elidibus moves, lips and tongue sweeping over the head before taking it inside. But once there, the warmth ends, as if the heat of his host ceases within that outermost shell. No, it is cool - but not ice, not here - as Emissary tastes and tests, almost savoring as he works. That wet tongue swirls and forms patterns, and his eyes flick back to the monster once more, a command reverberating wordlessly in that smooth, musical tone.

**_Break._ **

As he mingles within their souls, the sweet sounds of groaning from Hades, coupled with the soft sighs of the Warrior, bring a smile to Elidibus' lips. Hands withdraw from within their chests but the darkness does not, each palm seeking a different cheek, different jaw, to caress softly. The fingers are bare, now, skin on skin as he touches, delicate affection purposefully given.

Never one to wait, to be denied what she wants, the Champion presses forward for another kiss, and it is sweetly returned despite the bitter cold now intruding within - yet the longer it remains, the less it  _ bites, _ the more at  _ home _ it seems. Soon, too soon for her liking, he pulls back to look upon the larger figure above them. An appraisal, a contemplation for this weighty decision, but after a moment he tips his head in allowance.

The thin barrier which separates their eyes dissolves into a fine red mist.

Beneath the cowl, lips and jaw and cheeks and nose all exist as normal, but above, skin turns to darkest pitch, to solidified  _ emptiness, _ no marking even for eyes to be shown. His gaze shifts, not seen but  _ felt, _ and even the hood falls back. His silhouette bleeds into the space around, edges blurred, constantly shifting, the rippling darkness seamlessly connected - fingers tense against Hades' jaw, surging to reach around and pull him to that stained face, lips touching his in the most gentle of presses.

From within their cores, that abyssal aether coils, no part of them left unexplored, before withdrawing with a soft  _ pulse. _ But it leaves a sliver of itself behind, a part of the Emissary's  _ soul _ , pulsing in time to the piece of the Warrior within Hades, gently thrumming inside of the Champion beside her own piece of her other lover. Elidibus smiles against monstrous mouth and sharp teeth - he cannot help it, the implications are-

_ Not now, later. _

In the midst of all actions in the waking world, a small change is wrought upon two forms - Hero and Ascian both, woman and monster in turn - in the form of a soft bloom upon their chests. It unfolds, ink running through water across skin, until right in the center of their chests - directly over the sternum - a handprint is left. So dark as to almost absorb the light which hits it, no shimmer to break the expanse, only a void upon skin, but the Emissary's claim is made clear on them both.

  
  


A pleading trill rattles from his throat, abs tensing and flexing as his whole body is kept so close, lips quirking and pulling. The great and terrifying Hades, now  _ begging _ for his peak from Elidibus. The wounds in the tendril do not heal; made of aether as it is, he has no need to, and prefers to see how his own blood stains his pure white robes, a scything talon pulling at the tear again, once, twice. Almost the entire front of the robe is split now, exposing skin that becomes rapidly smeared with a mix of cloyingly sweet blood and release.

Breath hitches as Elidibus leans forward, his body giving an excited throb, but as his touch skips his aching flesh to caress the Warrior, the sound he lets out is  _ pathetic, _ his hips twitching, almost rutting for thin air. His lips move and a just-audible gibbering of  _ “Please-please-please-please-please...” _ escapes on shivering breaths. He can feel it, though. In a manner, the touches on her through the bond, he feels the pleased, curious murmur of  _ his _ monster.

_ Please. _

**Please.**

Finally, his wish is granted as soft lips smooth across hot, throbbing flesh and he sighs a deep groan of relief, his body twitching, consumed by the steady and measured ecstasy brought by Elidibus’ skilled tongue, the coolness pushing him back from the knife’s edge, if only by the smallest amount. It allows him to enjoy how coolness envelops him, moving one of his gold-clawed hands to softly cup the back of the Emissary’s head, curling against the silky fabric, occasionally holding him in place, or pushing back just before his hips lurch forward as not to discomfort his lover.

In this rapturous bliss, while parts of his body twitch, others go slack, the tendril filling the Warrior going limp, slipping from her body to let the fluids of her arousal run from her body, onto his.

Within, he softly leans his head into the touch on his cheek, reveling in that bare contact onto his cheek, the chill spreading through the bone-metal accenting his cheekbones and jaw. Fourfold gaze locked intensely onto him as the Hero -  _ his Hero _ presses her lips to his again, there is a flutter of something, of an excitement that is easily felt though he tries to stem how strongly he feels that. His gaze dips. Is he  _ blushing? _

And then, sooner than he realises, he feels the curl of fingers, tugging his jaw down, closer, closer to Elidibus. He gazes at the abyssal figure, eyeless sight and the same billowing pitch that a human body could not contain, and he is content, smiling, whispering softly once again, his name, too quiet for her to hear.

**_You are beautiful, you know that?_ **

Though purely aetherial he feels his heart pounding in his ears and there is a thrum in the celestial garden that reflects it. Lips meet, and he softly, reservedly moves his against the Emissary’s, almost chaste until he feels the endlessly dark aether creep through his body, pulsing, leaving a sliver of soul within him in offering. A low rumble comes from his throat and gilded fingers pull him tight to his body, his tongue slipping against his lips-

**_Break._ **

The command pierces from physical to aetherial and Hades’ aether responds wildly, frantically, sinking past the other Ascian’s skin for purchase and hooking into bones and sinew and soul, as if to pull him any tighter to Hades if it were possible. Warm enamel grazes and bites down on Elidibus’ bottom lip, subzero coldness spilling into his mouth.

Physically, his body arches, pulling tight as he reaches his climax, crying out in a monstrous howl as his cock throbs and flexes, pumping heated release from his tip as his hips twitch with barely-suppressed bucks. His chest heaves with panted breaths, all four of his hands digging into the ground as wave after wave of pleasure rips through his body, gritting teeth and snarling with each one.

Though the bond between Elidibus and Hades is not yet complete, not yet, it is easy for the Emissary to hear the way his soul hazily murmurs  _ I love you. _ And, that only becomes louder as finally, within the aetherial lake, his claws tear through the shoulder of white robes to expose skin, sinking his teeth deep and pulling, pulling until flesh tears free, holding a hand to the wound as it pours aetheric blood, healing it, imbuing the repaired muscle and sinew with a fragment of his very self, manifesting as a similar inkwash stain as the Warrior’s. His eyes meet Elidibus’ gaze as blood drips from his mouth, and pointedly with only the kind of confidence a monster could have, he swallows.

  
  


Hades spasms and manages to suppress the thrusts he no doubt  _ desperately _ wants to follow through with, but Elidibus does not release his arousal. Lips remain sealed firmly over the head and as the other man fills his mouth he swallows, swallows, until nothing remains to consume. Pointedly the Emissary makes eye contact with the shuddering, heaving fiend as the aftershocks still tremble through the bulk of the beast, and only when that fourfold gaze locks with his does he remove himself from the shaft.

Elidibus smiles, lips entirely clean save for a single white drop that lingers upon the corner, slowly beginning to trickle down towards his chin. Before it can go far, his tongue sweeps out to catch it, lips curling in a  _ very _ satisfied smirk. But he is not through, not yet, ignoring how the robes of his station are ruined beyond saving, he climbs forward, upward, still gloved hands and boots finding purchase on flesh.

Stirring from her stupor, mind slowly clearing now that she is not endlessly stimulated, the Warrior notices the Emissary's attempts. When he reaches for that last grip to pull himself to Hades' face, she clasps her hands with that clawed glove and helps him upwards. The briefest of nods, red beak on the mask dipping once, before he pushes upwards to kiss the fanged mouth of  _ their _ monster. Gently, for now, tasting of both blood and seed, tongue making to explore the other Ascian.

Not content to be ignored, the Warrior gives tender ministrations of her own, shifting her grip on Elidibus to support his torso, using her other hand to bring his glove to place kisses upon each finger. She then alternates, between glove and coiling tendril, soft affection for both of her lovers.

From inside, the void where eyes should be gazes up at Hades, teeth showing through parted lips at the  _ boldness _ of such an action, of the words that accompany it. The black-violet lingers on false skin, shimmering, mirroring that which no doubt is reflected upon his physical form. But when a soft voice speaks up, he turns to look at the woman on his other arm.

"My turn," almost purred, dual-toned in pitch, voice mortal but underneath her own monster  **_growls._ **

She pulls the fabric aside, more gentle than her mate, revealing the same place mirrored opposite. Her teeth are mortal, not suited for rending or tearing, but she has  _ other _ means of staking her claim. Gathering her being, every scrap of power she may muster, she concentrates it in the front of her mouth and lays an  _ achingly _ adoring brush of lips to the skin there. 

A pulse of power, Light from her soul, and beneath her touch blooms a mark almost crystalline in shape. It unfolds, writing itself into his skin with all the delicacy of a flower, shimmering color a blue-white match to that which marks Hades - and when it finishes growing, twin to the shape  _ exactly _ on his other side - the tiniest splinter of her own soul lodges inside. It gleams like a beacon, benevolent just as it was for the other Ascian, and she leans back to look at the Emissary and  _ beams. _

Offerings of peace between them, given and accepted on both sides, and like the greedy creature she is the Hero pulls  _ both _ men close to her beneath the stars.

  
  


Soft, almost mortal sounds escape from Hades’ throat as he climaxes, gentle claws cupping the back of Elidibus’ head, falling to cradle his jaw in two fingers as he dutifully swallows every drop, and as his gaze drifts down to look, his eyes meet the other man’s, making Hades’ entire body shudder and lurch in intense aftershock. His lips move, mouthing silently that hidden name, drool trickling down his lips as he takes measured breaths between each strangled one his aftershocks pull into him.

If not for the heat of pleasure in his cheeks, the Emissary would see grey-lilac flesh darken in the hue of a blush in the physical world as well, as the Ascian’s tongue flits out to snatch that stray drop of liquid. The slow, satisfied, smug smile makes Hades break his gaze, tipping his head away but unable to hide in his soul and thoughts just _ how _ arousing he found the sight. He feels amusement from two parties in return.

He is broken from those thoughts as a gloved, clawed hand gently tips his head back, soft lips pressing against his, tasting of Hades’ release, of his blood, of the Ascian he had, confessedly, fantasised about more than once. Notch-tipped tongue slips from his lips to meet Elidibus’, tasting of himself and the Warrior’s arousal. He is slow, careful, loving, all the fire and passion drained from him in the aftermath of his release. He leans into the soft, intimate contact, gilded fingers slipping up to gently push mask and hood from the other man’s head, four dimly lit white eyes gazing with adoration.

**_Yes, just as beautiful here, too,_ ** he purrs wordlessly, smirking against the other Ascian’s lips in the way he is known for best.

Supporting the other Ascian with a large, scythe-clawed hand, he also slowly, gently lifts the Hero, allowing her to nestle at his chest as Elidibus does, to better reach the both of them. A tendril curls under her chin to lovingly caress, even as his lips remain locked with the other man’s, not wanting either to feel like he would even remotely dilute his love.

The indoors of their souls, almost completely in tune with each other, shift to allow this new presence, no longer a  _ guest _ but instead a  _ resident. _ It subdues that moment of starving violence, licking his lips clean and laying soft kisses upon the mark on his shoulder.

Elidibus hears, now, all the adoring thoughts Hades harbours, in the afterglow of his climax and the monstrously satisfying feeling of having made his mark. Guarded normally, he allows both him and her to hear and feel every last bit of it, the simple, soft, mortal affections and the beastly adorations. He allows her space as she presses herself to the Emissary, trilling a content sound as blue and silver ink pours across skin to make a matching mark; a scarf of light and dark balanced between either shoulder. The light burns, yes, but it does not  _ burn up, _ instead kindling a warmth that, for Hades, was able to make abyssal cold into restful heat.

And, as she pulls him and the other close in an embrace, all those sounds of affection shift, change, grow in volume and intensity for his absolute reverence of her is _ just so _ in its passion, a chorus of love made only more rich in depth for how, now, more voices can join. He lays a soft kiss upon her forehead, and turns his head to do the same for Elidibus, heated pitch touching rime in the light-eating darkness of the other monster’s crown.

Hades’ soul makes a sound, a radiant melody that is otherwise forbidden for man or god to hear, and yet he pours it onto them both. It is sonorous, inky, it settles onto skin, beneath, through bones until it reaches even past aether. It is a sound of contentment he has not made… for longer than even he remembers.

**_Be with us too, won’t you?_ **

The question is already answered, but he would hear it for himself, in voice physical or aetheric.

Outside, claws and tendrils alike pull them close as she does within, tenderly embracing the two together, rumbling his sheer, peaceful contentment. There’s a low grunt of discomfort that vibrates against Elidibus’ lips, as he feels exhaustion pulling at him, prepared to strip him of this body he now begins to love instead of fear or dread. He is not prepared to let it go, not yet, not when he still has so much he  _ wants, _ as if he did not seize the opportunity now, it may escape him forever.

  
  


It is the music that brings her fully back to awareness, dispelling that fog of lust, of pleasure, undoing the spell by which Hades held her captive all too willingly. Her thoughts come into clarity with that edge of sharpness that comes from being unaware for so long, within and without, and she moves herself closer in both aspects. Avarice ever tugs at her, spilling from deep within - the monster she truly is purring and growling at the prospect of not one but  _ two _ mates to covet - and she does not attempt to hide it from them.

Cloudiness fully banished just in time to hear Hades' whispered inquiry, just in time to hear Elidibus respond. Or perhaps  _ because _ it was banished he prepares to answer, that subdued desire for them both to understand at once trickling across these new bonds.

**_Preservation must come before all things,_ ** he is bound by his duty as he always has been, the iciness of his touch is a testament to that. And yet-

**_But this, too, shall uphold what must needs be done. To be the balance you both need, I shall see it through._ **

Though impersonal the words may be, spoken with lips and with soul, they are betrayed by the thread of emotion, of fondness, underlying them. The Emissary is not like Hades, not even like herself, they who wear their forms, their selves, on their sleeves, every vicious, primal desire on display for the world and unashamed of any of it. He is all subtlety, easy to miss, so simple for the eyes to move from one star to the next, nebula to stellar body, skipping over the dark space between.

But she knows better, now. A smile curls around her lips and she pulls her two monsters close, falling down, back, into the stellar nursery that they three create. One love ancient and strong, the other so very new, both entwined as they tumble with her.

The state of her physical body is a sorry one, sore and stimulated and exhausted as she is, yet she still finds it within herself to turn and maneuver to cradle Hades' face with her hands. The kiss between the two men is broken, Elidibus pulling back to curiously observe - and for a moment she is struck by the lack of barrier between them.

"He's right, you know, you are beautiful," she smiles, a flash of teeth, a swell of  _ mine, too, that one is, _ unmistakable as she turns to the largest of them. Fingers trace the details of his face, the bone-metal, the four eyes, the angle of his jaw, and they end with her pressing her face to rest against his.

A small huff of laughter, for she is truly amused, "Take your own advice, my dear monster.  _ Be _ with us too, won't you?" and her smile grows wide once more. From her lips once again fall his words, but  _ more, _ "Don't strain. Be with me. Be with  _ us. _ Be us, my dearest Hades."

Another forehead rests against where she does not, and deeper tones resonate, "We will not be lost after one night, Emet-Selch." There is a beat, calculated thoughts churning in his depths, before he speaks once again. "Relax yourself, Hades, allow yourself to fall. Two are here to catch."

He is right. His lovers both hold him in every way, unified in their whisper of  _ it is alright, we love you, we have you, all is well. _

  
  


His exhaustion shows here, too, in the aetherial lake, as he waits on Elidibus to answer; his size diminishes, his shadow becoming more monstrous as it slowly fades from him, as if drained into it. Certain aspects cling on; gold claws and manifold eyes, sawtooth grin and grey-lilac skin. Tiredly he rests his head on her shoulder, making a pleased sound, not unable to hide the mild surprise that, in his own way, Elidibus accepts his plea.

**_Well, I suppose I can’t ask for a better answer than that,_ ** he lilts in a way  _ all  _ present are too familiar with, laying a soft kiss on the Emissary’s cheek. Teasing, he contently draws him in close with the both of them, enjoying the arctic chill just as much as he has come to enjoy her searing Light. There is little to hide over the bond, but as Hades regains his senses better, he stems the roaring tide of thought and emotion he allowed himself to be; he must rest in all aspects, even this.

Relaxing, he closes his eyes, lacing fingers with hers, and lets her drop, falling with her, three tumbling into endless stars and deep, inky abyss.

Outwardly, ribbons of deep violet and black begin to curl off his body, wobbling as he kneels, trying to hold on but so exhausted, so overwhelmed. He ponders how she can even remain conscious after all he has done for her. To her.

_ I doubt she will find herself complaining. _

Monstrous mentality disappears first as that arrogant smile curls onto his lips. Yes, Elidibus  _ is  _ beautiful and he feels all too validated for this, huffing a soft, warm breath that all but screams  _ I told you so. _

A long sigh, an animate roll of his shoulders as fluttering motes of darkness break free of his body, losing a fight he would rather not give up.  **“My dear, must you always use my own words against me so? ‘Tis a terribly underhanded tactic for the Hero of the Source.”** He gives her a long, adoring gaze, gilded fingers stroking her cheek as she does his.  **“Am I not allowed to wish for a moment to never end?”**

But, he has no such quick-witted words for when Elidibus offers his entreaty. Just a mildly stunned silence.  _ His name. _ A few moments pass, and slowly he sets the two onto the soft grass, letting out a slow breath as, just as before, his transformation sheds like autumn leaves, leaving the kneeling visage of a youthful Garlean emperor, sweeping long hair over one of his shoulders.  _ Mm. Maybe, _ he thinks loosely before he leans forwards against the two on the ground, adoring touches of nose and lips for them both.

“My, my,” he starts, almost unable to complete his thoughts, “-whatever am I to do with you?” A beat, his gaze slides to Elidibus, careless of his status, station or whatever else he may be to Emet-Selch professionally. “Whatever am I to do with  _ either _ of you?”

The answer to this, he does not have. A tease, nothing more as exhausted as he is.

  
  


The Warrior is the one who speaks, breath ghosting across his face as she leans close, "Keep us, that's what you should do." He is a man, Emet-Selch, once more, and as she runs her fingers through long, silken hair the fatigue that had been biting at the far edge of her being descends, adrenaline finally beginning to drain. Sleepiness, exhaustion, creeps over her rapidly, but she stubbornly keeps her eyes open.

None of them were in any state to sleep away from camp, let alone exposed in the wilds.

But the Emissary has already turned his face towards where their belongings had been left, so much earlier in the night. The dawn is approaching, the far horizon beginning to lighten, and the Champion watches, taken aback, as the camp in its entirety vanishes with a wave of Elidibus' hand.

"I shall see to it that we arrive at a safe haven," there is a thread of hesitation in his voice, undercurrent of shifting unease welling up from within their bond. "Your quarters from before shall serve."

"You're perfectly welcome where I sleep, Elidibus," her response is tired amusement. "I've seen into your soul, inviting you into my bed is a bit of a step back from that. Besides," she looks at him thoughtfully, "I think you and I have a lot to talk about, later."

He stares at her, curiosity written over his face, he is  _ intrigued _ by her blunt sincerity, and with a nod and a raise of his hand they are transported to her rooms at The Pendants, returned to the Crystarium in the blink of an eye. There is the faintest hint of gratitude, slight fondness ringing in a note that is wholly Elidibus. The song turns to levity as the Hero sprawls herself over the bed, pulling at what remains of her clothing until she is completely nude.

Emet-Selch is hauled up into the smaller man's arms as the Emissary also approaches the bed. He is more ginger, however, delicately placing the other Ascian down while his ruined robes melt away from his form, the white far too stained to represent his station any longer. Soon, he and the Warrior match, all bared to the air and the world. He pauses, watching.

The Warrior looks at her first lover and smiles, beckoning, "Well? The shades are drawn and we have naught to do for now. Rest with us?"

  
  


Lips pull into a tired smirk, and even before he speaks both of them can feel the landslide of words on the tip of his tongue. “My love, that much I already had planned; I am of course, not entirely improvising my entire life.” His nose bumps against her cheek and jaw, leaving a soft kiss there with a contented sound.

So deliriously tired he is that he barely is aware of Elidibus speaking, only when he feels the pull of aether tangling onto physical bodies in anticipation of a change of scenery. The approach of light is no longer as unpleasant to him as it once was, a warmer smile tugging at his lips, just before the scene fades, returned to the familiar, cozy room of The Pendants. The sound he hears is new, and for a moment, he does not realise it comes from Elidibus; he has never heard such a sound from his soul. He has never heard much of  _ anything _ from his soul. Always a cold, insurmountable wall of force that despite everything, he found comforting. This, though…

Emet-Selch, kneeling on the wooden floor as is he is, wobbles with almost  _ bliss _ from the sound, which soon turns into alarm as he feels the remarkably solid hold of the Emissary lifting him from the floor. “Elidibus, please, this is  _ most _ undignified. I am  _ quite _ fine to walk on my own two feet, I don’t see why you are insisting on carrying me like-”

He pauses. Indignance changes to impish mirth.

“Goodness, I never thought you the type, darling. Carrying me into the sunset as your well-won bride? Will you not ravish me and consummate our union?” He is… dramatic. And he will not cease his words, going limp, languidly holding a hand over his forehead as if a damsel. It soon turns to laughter, trying to heap and disguise his tiredness with incessant chatter. Yet, as he is set down gently, his fingers grace the unmasked face of Elidibus, his affection curling around the other’s soul, settling upon it with warmth on abyssal cold. “Mmmh, maybe later.”

Fingers curl, middle finger and thumb pressing together before sounding a clear snap. The fire in the room flickers to life, pressing away the early morning chill. A second snap, and his stained and torn robes disappearing with a flicker of violet aether. With legs that are almost shaking with exhaustion he pushes himself fully into the bed alongside the Warrior with a few undignified sounds of strain, eventually pressing his chest up to her back, pulling her in against him safely. A few beats pass and his eyes flit upwards to the other, unsure and still standing. A roll of the eyes and a dramatic sigh and his hand darts out to grab Elidibus’ wrist, pulling him into the bed with the two with the last of his strength. “For her Twelve’s sake, come and rest, Emissary,” his words are almost slurred, and even his soul begins to waver in its active presence, sliding into that soft, sleepy song that is only for two, now, to hear. “My old, weary friend…” he murmurs as he settles against the Hero’s back, not able to hold himself awake any longer as his vessel succumbs to exhaustion.

  
  


The feeling of him pressed against her in this bed is a familiarity that the Warrior embraces fully. The comfort in the action, the warmth of his body against hers, the sensation of skin on skin, is enough to pull a wide-mouthed yawn from her as she settles in. There is nothing to serve as a nest, this time, but that ceases to matter with how surrounded she is by the man she loves so much.

And this new connection, breaking new ground, pushing up from a place inside of her she wasn't aware she had.

A chuckle escapes her as Emet-Selch tugs Elidibus onto the bed with them, pulling the shorter man against his back. Peeking over her shoulder - and that of the Ascian who holds her - she can  _ just _ see the way a small smile spreads across the Emissary's face upon hearing those last few words. The first of her lovers descends into slumber and brings her teetering on the edge as he does.

But not just yet.

The subtle song of Elidibus rings with muted shock as she sneaks an arm behind herself, around Emet-Selch's hold, and draws the Emissary's arm over both bodies so that she may entwine their fingers. When they awaken they may talk, but now is a time for rest, to allow these new bonds to settle and grow. Affection seeps through that newness, a curling tendril within, cradling Elidibus as she sighs in contentment, stilling.

She, too, drops into restful sleep.

Elidibus is the last to close his eyes, depths continuing their slow churn as the weight of what they have done tonight settles. But it does not drag him down, not here, not with these two. Perhaps the monsters keep the sense of doom away. Regardless of his thoughts, of ruminations, he pulls soft blankets around all of them, cocooning them physically - and after a beat he cocoons them with  _ himself _ as well, aether a thick, shielding blanket within their souls. Only after does he allow his host body to slow, then to sleep.

When he begins to dream, he smiles.

  
  


Despite all that cold just under Elidibus’ skin, Emet-Selch finds him pleasantly warm against his back, sandwiched between two dearly loved people. A dim flicker of a song embers up from his soul to join, drifting into slumber, weaving his aether securely with the other two, and for a short while he dreams  _ with _ her and the Emissary, drifting in their consciousness before his slumber falls deeper. Still tethered by his connection, his consciousness sinks beneath the surface of the aetherial lake, settling to dream within a craggy cavern, lit by dim yellow warmth, bioluminescent guppy grass and hornwort cradling him.

The song of Elidibus and the Hero echoes down here, and he responds in kind, a sonorous crooning from deep beneath, one that is answered, harmonised and drawn from him as one would draw water from a well.

It is hard for him to remember how long it has been since he slept this deeply or dreamed of this place, nor the last time he saw it rightfully lit in the dizzying opal hues it bore many, many, many,  **_many_ ** years ago. But he far from pushes it away, instead embracing every moment of this profound rest he can, fingers loosely holding onto the threads bonding him to Elidibus and her as one would a swing, lazily kicking his legs back and forth through shimmering leaves.

Just as the shard of Light within his chest settled into a space it furrowed itself, so does the inky rime, creeping through cells and nerves until it, too, becomes almost a whole part of his soul and body. He cherishes it, the way that somehow, between searing light and frigid dark, he has found himself simply  _ warm. _

He is  _ safe. _ And here, in this moment, he feels the ever-present guard of his soul slip, osmosing with the others, tangling and becoming a part of them. He allows himself not only to dream, but to feel like, this time, he needn’t wipe this memory. Tendrils rise from the lake, embracing those above; though he is not _ right there, _ he is always,  _ always _ within reach. It makes him feel…  _ invincible. _

He needn’t fear the worst.

Renown, even before the sundering, to be a profoundly deep sleeper, it it a long time, even after many hours have passed and the sun has almost begin to set again, that he begins to emerge from the depths of the aetherial lake, his vessel giving slow twitches and flexes as muscles wake before his mind. He feels pleasant weight atop him, and breathes out a long sigh of contentment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You think yourself finished? We have only just begun.


	3. Main Course

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The meat of the meal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three helpings this time, eat up.

Two voices speak, soft, hushed, making their way through the haze of sleep to reach Emet-Selch's ears.

"This is what you truly wish, then?" a quiet question.

"By the last few hours I thought you'd have understood, but _yes,_ " exasperated fondness.

"I seek to-" unsure hesitation, cut off.

"Elidibus. I wouldn't have bonded with you if I thought otherwise," care and affection.

There is slow, rhythmic motion, gentle rocking that punctuates each statement.

"He stirs," a smile present in words.

"Oh, good, I thought we may have to work harder to wake him," impish amusement.

The two voices join, speaking in tandem, via mouth and soul.

**_Welcome back, my dear._ **

  
  


He squirms lightly beneath, trilling a soft sound as the slow rock makes her rub up against him. Lips quirk into a soft, half-asleep grin. “My love are you not still _exhausted…?_ ” he practically _slurs_ in Garlean. He doesn’t quite process the sound of two voices speaking, eyes still closed, lips roaming her shoulder to kiss and graze teeth lazily. He murmurs unrecognizable words, too asleep to form any one language.

Just before those words echo in ears and soul, his brow furrows, remembering, feeling the tingle of cool across his chest and the warm light within. The rocking against him is not the simple, wantful grind of her, but-

At the sound of two voices greeting him, his eyes snap open, gazing past the Warrior’s cheek, up at the figure leaning over them both, his cheeks flushing bright, bright red as he pieces together what, exactly, is happening. He squirms with flustered indignance, as if trying to wrest his body free of being the bookend to the Warrior, even as everything he sees, all at once, scorches down his spine to his loins.

Of course, in all the dazed, tired and flustered confusion that floods the bond, only one thought truly gives itself voice,

**_What are you doing?!_ **

  
  


Shocked squawking is answered by a chuckle, soft vibrations that turn into full-throated laughter. But not from the Warrior. No, it is _Elidibus_ whose mirth rings throughout the room, chiming through their souls, and he leans down to rest more weight upon the Hero, upon Emet-Selch in turn. The Emissary's legs are slotted between the Architect's, and as he shifts forward his long hair, shockingly white, tumbles down to mingle with newly long umber locks. Amused eyes meet with offended gold, and he moves to slot his fingers between those of Emet-Selch's on one hand.

The grasp is firm, made firmer with the weight resting upon the limb, and Elidibus continues his slow thrusting into the Champion, "I believe that the answer you seek should be apparent, Emet-Selch."

Indeed, it was. The Warrior lay upon the Architect, back to his front, and the Emissary continued his achingly slow pace, bottoming out inside with a wet, _filthy_ sound, both eager and slightly breathless. By the amount of wetness between them, the easy glide of his arousal in and out of her slickness, they had been at this for quite some time

That slow motion increases ever so slightly, lovemaking now, as he leaves gentle kisses upon her face in full view of the man below them both.

The hand not occupied by the Emissary is grasped by the Warrior as she brings it to tuck around her, holding her closely, and she, too, interlaces their fingers. She presses back and down against him with both body and soul, attempting to quell his squirming.

"You know that you're welcome to join right in, silly man," it is her turn to laugh, squeezing his fingers and giving a roll of her hips against his slowly stiffening length. She seamlessly includes him, her and Elidibus both, and as the Emissary shifts his angle just barely there is a soft, breathy moan that escapes from the Hero’s mouth - the shivering in Elidibus' breath becoming undeniable, hitching ever so slightly.

"Are you going to merely complain? Or join in. There's room for another," she drops her voice to a purr, and from above her Elidibus locks eyes with Emet-Selch once more, beckoning.

  
  


Groggy as he is, no part of him is guarded from either of them; still trying to process the flurry of emotions in between all that possessive greed which pulls him from the worst of his stupor. A growl rises in his throat, gold-tipped fingers starting to reach to swipe at Elidibus, but then becoming entangled with the soft skin of the Emissary’s fingers, pressed back down onto the bed. The additional weight only makes the touch of her body against his all the more delightful and at the sound of a particularly deep thrust he can’t stop the indecent sound that escapes his throat, flexing slate grey, gold-tipped hands in the firm grip, writhing beneath the two of them as his arousal twitches in desperate anticipation despite being accompanied with an offended, ornery demeanor.

As the other hand is gripped by her, drawn around to tuck against her, a soft sound escapes his throat, and the gentle touch is just enough to push the jealous monster back down, cool gold giving way for warm skin. His teeth nip sharply at the top of her shoulder, firmer as Elidibus brings his lips to touch upon her face, frowning, still identifiably grumbling in Solus’ tongue despite the Echo allowing all to understand.

”She is mine. **Mine.** ”

Fingers curl at her side, nails lightly digging in as his teeth bite on her shoulder again, frowning and keeping that face for a few moments before she pushes her weight further down on him physically and aetherically, breaking it into a soft ‘oh!’ with a shiver. His hips arch up to meet that contact and aching, heated flesh slips against hers and Elidibus’ for a moment, biting his lip and swallowing audibly. His lips brush on her neck, and he lets out a deep, monstrous purr, his eyes narrowing. His aether practically fizzes with excitement and claws in his soul sink into the Warrior’s and Elidibus’.

The frantic offense, confusion and tiredness is gone from the bond, stilling into an abyssal need, an endless hunger that could devour them both. His eyes meet Elidibus’, dimly lit and full of ravenous intent.

**_Mine._ **

He does not refer to her alone, but both of them.

Angling his hips he raises them, pushing against her, eased in with each thrust of the other Ascian, and her own slickness; relaxed arousal accommodating the both of them. Claws dig deeper into aether until he bottoms out, rocking his hips for a few moments as he restrains himself, just until he hears a sound of approval from her before the arm tucked around her braces her against him, his hips finding a rhythm slightly out of time with Elidibus, the feel of her tightness and the thrusting caress of the other man’s arousal making him let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding in strained pleasure.

Despite his hands being held tight, a toothsome grin pulls at his lips, a tendril slipping around them to cradle the back of Elidibus’ head, pressing him further down so Emet-Selch may crush his lips against the other man’s in a hungry, lustful kiss, sharp teeth nipping lips and tongue lapping away blood, before crushing lips to his again for a moment before breaking it, whispering to him in his old, native tongue.

**“I want to feel you come inside her. I want you to cry out her name, lose yourself in that ecstasy.”**

Aetherial claws sink further through his soul.

**“Because the next time you cry out it will be for** **_me._ ** **”**

  
  


Something viscous, something dripping beads of shadow that vanish into smoke, rises from beyond the Emissary. Not velvet flesh, no, but darker, shadow coalesced and given form, and it lunges for Emet-Selch while a second pries the fleshy tentacle off of white hair and away from his skull, wrapping around and _wrenching_ it aside, down, pinned against the bed beside them. While the Architect speaks, while he _claims_ with lips, that first tendril slips between the two men. Elidibus jerks his head back for but a moment, and the tendril slips into Emet-Selch's mouth and plunges _deep._

"Hades, I find that you speak too much for my liking at this moment," Elidibus _growls,_ the endless dark within surging forward to pin the other man, holding him by the nape, taking that urge to change, to grow, to dominate and _shaking_ it from him.

The woman between them gasps, laughing breathlessly, "He does have a mouth on him, doesn't he?" She holds fast to what little composure she can, feeling so _full,_ the stretch, the unsynchronized rhythm, both bodies keeping her pressed between them, it is near too much. But she forges on, moving as she can, threading her free hand into that long, white hair as it cascades upon her.

Another tendril, the third, slithers around and between the Emissary and the Warrior, caressing her body, stroking the planes of her cheeks while his hands support his weight. Tenderness, bleeding through around hooks and barbs where they have all latched on, in, to one another. A maw opens on the very tip, sharp teeth not yet biting but grazing along sensitive skin - and each other tendril splits open as well, pitch dripping from those waiting mouths.

The predatory smile has returned to that unassuming face, and Elidibus leans to kiss Emet-Selch's face - cheeks, chin, brows, all the while the tentacle slowly thrusts, rocking back and forth into his mouth. The Emissary cannot help but trace his own lips over those kept wide by his shadowy limb, smile growing to a smirk.

"He does, but we must needs be lenient," an icy breath against that flushed face. "He does not know what we have in store." He gives a forceful _thrust_ and the Hero cries out, but more than that, he grinds himself along the length that moves with his, providing just that bit more friction.

"Oh, show him already, he's-" her voice cuts off as it _breaks,_ her body spasming - not over the edge, not just yet, but close. She keeps it at bay by ilms - the desire to crash _with them_ stronger than the desire for even her own pleasure.

"He has perhaps earned it," spoken low, heated despite the chill of the man who speaks them, and a fourth tendril winds beneath them all. Thinner than the rest, _soaked_ in ichor, it climbs up beneath the tallest of them and strokes at his entrance. Gently slicked, it eases its way inside, just enough to be felt, just enough to be a _promise._

Two voices again, speaking around one another.

**_"Who shall cry out this time? Do enlighten us, my dear monster."_ **

  
  


Emet-Selch’s back arches as firm blackness slips between his lips and plunges deep, slippery and tarry all at once. He muffles a complaint, only halfway through before the thrust of the tendril cuts it short into a groan as it slips into his throat. The gripped velvet flesh writhes and thrashes in the grip of Elidibus, forcibly halted and pinned down, Emet-Selch trying his best to push monstrous to the fore, shards of a crown manifesting and breaking, only the smallest shift in hue to his skin. His hand pinned to the bed grips the other man’s tight, nails digging into pale skin, trying to wrest free by making Elidibus release his grip first. Both the Warrior and the Emissary can feel how desperately he strains to grow, to claw and bite and _take_ but it is ripped from him, leaving him with a soft, mortal body. The only remainder is the pinned tentacle which lurches and flexes weakly, stripped of its strength.

Still, by nature of who he is, he refuses to allow this without a fight; remembering what the Champion did to him, he lets out a low growl and strains his jaw, biting down on the pitch-dark forcing his mouth open. Unlike his own, velvety, fleshy appendages though, this almost behaves as if it has neither heft nor lift, yielding and instead oozing shapelessly around his teeth to continue caressing the fragile, slippery flesh of his throat, and then forcing his mouth open again.

Another thrust of the tendril in his mouth and his body stiffens, hips pushing up with each slip of dripping flesh that presses the delicate skin of his throat outwards. His brow furrows as he tries to keep his composure, even compromised as he is, his cock throbbing painfully, swallowing eagerly around the darkness drooling into his throat, muscles caressing lightless flesh as his body betrays his offence, showing instead how eagerly he _needs._

**_Ell..Eļl̨i̸d̸̢͝dD..i…._ **

Distorted and reverberating, even his ability to speak through their bonds is stifled by how Elidibus exerts power on Emet-Selch to stop him from changing. Almost entirely feelings now, communicating with words almost impossible for him, eyes lidding shut, a faint, muffled sound of delight as Elidibus’ lips caress across his face, dangerous and predatory yet tender all at once. The grind of the other man’s arousal against him, within the - within _his_ Warrior almost sending him over the edge, a pitiful whimper muddled by the shadowy limb gagging him, escaping his body.

His arms slacken off, the will to fight draining from his body, still squirming beneath until Elidibus and her exchange words, a crackle of alarm jolting through those tethers, eyes open for thin rims of blown out gold to seek something, some knowledge, in the gaze of the other, but even with the fizz of alarm both can feel, overwhelmingly, how much that excites him.

Finally, the last tendril caresses his entrance, slick with liquid darkness, slipping within and making Emet-Selch’s body spasm, a sharp, mistimed thrust within, arching his back, rolling his hips in an unspoken plea against the tendril teasing just within.

Heart beats faster than he could think for a mortal body.

Lungs rasp with staccato breaths.

Teeth graze the tendril stretching his mouth open.

Within, gold claws and silver talons scrape at an impossible wall of force, a monster desperate to run free.

Eyes lock with the Emissary’s, time seeming to hold still for a moment. The connection from Emet-Selch is deafeningly silent.

But finally, as hazy, blown-out eyes slide shut, he relinquishes his need for control.

He _submits._

**_I a̢̡͜a̕͜͞.͢A̴͢am… yours…_ **

He knows the intent, for it is the one he craves so much to do to her. But he desperately, so **desperately** wants it for himself, too. His thrusts become irregular jerks, grunts and strained whimpers unbidden. As he lets go, his straining to change goes with it, but his voice within is no more than a begging whisper.

**_I n..need..you…_ **

**_I need this._ **

**_Please._ **

  
  


Smothering pressure eases from that stifling touch somewhat, curling into a caress, never truly lifting in a reminder of the immense force the Emissary may bring to bear at any moment. Weight is shifted, redistributed to lean more heavily onto the Hero's body, onto the one hand which clasps firm to Emet-Selch's - with Hades, for though the monstrous form is held down, he remains his true self - freeing his other hand to trace along that Garlean form. 

But that exploration is interrupted by the Warrior as she loses the fight against herself, moans resonating throughout the room as her inner walls spasm against them both. Pressed as she is between both bodies, she can do nothing but clutch with both hands - one vice like in Hades' grasp, the other fisting in white hair - helplessly as the euphoria finally drags her under.

They had begun quite a bit of time before their third awoke, and it was through sheer force of will that they had lasted this long.

Elidibus, choking on a broken gasp, presses his forehead into the Hero's shoulder, giving two halted thrusts before finally bottoming out with one last fateful _push._ Strong as he may be, his vessel remains mortal, and those limits send him pulsing within her. Hot seed fills within, aborted small thrusts causing his release to be felt all along Hades' length - but the Emissary is not finished.

It is familiar, to her, the icy feel of solidified aether being pumped inside, intimately so - but colder, this time, frigid are the orbs he leaves to collect deep within, an undeniable clutch of his own for her to carry, to absorb. 

His breaths come in gasps as he stills, though he does not pull out, the feel of Hades' thrusts - surely the Architect may feel not only his release, but his own aether now as he delves deep - causing a thread of **_satisfaction_ ** to well up from that placid lake.

The surface broken, the subtle song of Elidibus rings out for the first time unmuffled - loud and lilting, a sonata bearing aloft all that he is. Truth laid bare for how he feels for the other man, the eons-long bond they share, the strengthening newness of his connection to the Champion - hope and tentative happiness and wistful thoughts of a future finally in grasp. He harmonizes with the two of them, his melody curling through, between, around, and he places the softest of kisses to the lips of the woman below him.

His other lover is not forgotten, that free hand moving to gently caress where even now shadow entwines with pliant flesh, stroking along that velvet length. The thinnest tendril eases into Hades just an ilm more, curling to press against the man's prostate, rubbing firm strokes that match the movement of Elidibus' fingers. Retaining the motion, he moves the fleshy tentacle to his mouth, kissing, suckling, nipping, an unending, slow pattern.

Having regained her sense despite the aftershocks, the Warrior too licks along that flexible length, knowing from prior experience just how to drive her mate to madness. Her eyes meet the Emissary's and they nod at one another, smiling, and she turns her head and shoulders as far as she is able to lay eyes upon the subdued monster beneath her, within her.

Higher still, Elidibus looks down upon Hades' face, that eldest of tongues flowing from bitten lips.

**_"How long have I wanted this,"_ ** reverent affection coursing through that tune.

The Hero, too, speaks in ancient words, **_"You're so beautiful, love."_ **

And together.

**_"Let yourself go, monster mine. Fall apart for us, dearest love."_ **

  
  


With all his posturing and cantankerousness pacified, all that is left, beneath Elidibus and the Hero, is _Hades._ And oh, oh how he moans and mewls beneath them both, arching his back and hips each time Elidibus plucks his body like an instrument, drawing a song from him that Hades does not know, played through nerves and bliss. The simple touch of fingers on soft, pale skin makes him shiver with delight, a quivering press of his hips.

Ichor drips around his mouth, its abyssal chill satisfying a craving he was left with after she had slipped between his chains, a longing for that frozen lightlessness, swallowing eagerly. Fingers grip and flex at the hands holding his, moaning as his arousal aches in his hips, in his pelvis, a mounting pressure that makes his toes curl, splay and curl as he tries to hold back even as her walls spasm and squeeze around them both. Each twitch of his shaft as he hilts himself drools warm, slippery pre within, mixing with her arousal and Elidibus’, leaking between them.

A whimper escapes his throat as Elidibus spills within her, sticky release around his shaft making obscene sounds as his hips roll and jerk, out of time without the orchestrations of the other man’s intimate touch; just needful, hungry. He feels himself at the very precipice, writhing and heaving breaths through his nose, flickers and twitches of instinctive transformative power pushing against the pressure keeping it tamped.

Coldness churns against his cock and his teeth bite down on the tendril in his mouth, making it slip weightlessly through his jaws without harm. He feels the swelling _throb_ of his shaft as mortal climax tears through him from the sensation, pressing deep, holding her tight to him as her fingers still grip his in a vice.

Hades’ soul rises to meet the melody of the Emissary, reverent and tinged with joy, relief, even _disbelief,_ for how long had he wanted, needed, _denied_ for he would never, not without _her._ What a fool he has been, unable to see how, in Elidibus’ reserved way, he had wanted Hades too. It is a tender touch his soul has; warm, not cold or hot, trembling in the wake of his peak.

Yet they do not let his high pass so easily, not done with him. A low, exhausted grunt huffs from Hades’ nose as the tendril inside him pushes deeper, massaging and milking him, not allowing the stiffness of his arousal to subside as he is taken straight back to the brink. His hips roll on primal urges alone, deep and firm jerks as he pants, no time to readjust, no time for afterglow because while he has come, he has not come _undone._

**_Please._ **

He writhes, overstimulated, aching, _needing,_ as fingers, tongue and teeth tease that one veloured tentacle, making it jerk and writhe and wrap around arm and wrist to squeeze in pulses, matching each throb of his arousal.

**_Please, please, please, please-_ **

The word loses all meaning for it is the only one he can use, feverish and driven to the brink of sanity, thrall to them both.

Their words reach his ears, his breath holding in his chest, opening one eye to gaze upon them both, before his spine arches, muscles pulling tight as he drives himself deep, eyes scrunching shut as stars burst into blinding white in his peak. A high pitched whine drones in his ears, then the pulsing of his own heartbeat - the breath he was holding escapes in a rapturous **_cry,_ ** that matches in soul, searing like a path of lit ceruleum through the bond in overwhelming euphoria. And, just for a moment, Hades’ aether _surges,_ spilling over the wall keeping the monster at bay, enough for gilded claws to sink into the Hero’s side and Elidibus’ hand, if only for a second or two.

He fills her once more, not with mortal seed but warm, pliant spheres of aether, in sharp contrast to those of the other man’s, pressing himself upwards so the other may feel each pulse, each swell of his shaft, each orb settling heavily within her. Cushioned by a marbled mix of release and liquid aether staining delicate inner flesh, a clutch soon becomes two, a palpable weight within her body until they begin to overflow, as the faintest, weakest whisper of _‘mine’_ trickles across their bond.

There are no words, only adoration and **_love_ ** for the both of them amongst the radio static of exhaustion, electrified muscles of his vessel still heaving in aftershocks, each one pushing strained sounds of ecstasy from his chest.

  
  


The smile that breaks over her face is beyond satisfied, beyond fond. She watches Hades come undone and drinks in every last mewl, every moan choked around that dark tendril, feels every pulse of him inside of her - and despite herself gasps a broken sigh as he fills her until she _drips,_ violet fluid and solidified aether streaking her groin, thighs, his front.

When he stills, so too does the tendril deep in his mouth, his throat, and she taps gently on the pale skin hovering above her. Elidibus looks to her for but a moment before the shadowy limbs dissipate, the lingering scent - taste - of black tea and dark chocolate left in their wake. Sharing with her a final kiss, sweet and short, a barest brush of lips but full of _feeling_ and previously spoken words, the Emissary pulls back, sliding out of her in a motion that causes them _both_ to groan.

There is also a sense of relieving pressure, as Elidibus pulls back that overwhelming force from Hades' soul. He leaves some of it, a reminder, a _caress,_ but no longer does he stifle the monster within.

With just her first lover left inside, she shifts away herself, slipping off of him, turning, laying herself down beside his body and pressing close. She keeps his arm around her, and one hand comes to caress his chin and jaw gently as his freshly freed mouth sucks in greedy gulps of air.

It was so rare to see him undone, like this. She would treasure this moment, this peace, and presses herself more closely.

The bed shifts as Elidibus mirrors her on Hades' other side, drawing the other arm around himself, one hand splayed on the other man's chest, and a tingle crosses her skin as a curl of aether heals the wounds that golden talons had caused in ecstasy. A whisper of thanks, both aloud and within their bond, and she rests her free hand against her abdomen. The slight swell feels different now, with undeniable proof from _both_ of her lovers, and that same sense of sheer **_contentment_ ** comes over her. This is good, this is what she'd wanted.

Two songs mingle with that of their spent lover, as they wait for him to regain his senses.

  
  


It is a ragged, desperate gasp that fills his lungs as his mouth is unobstructed, his whole body arching with each heaving breath, his cheeks flushed crimson and a light sheen of sweat coating his skin. He isn’t even aware of the shift of weight atop his body, nor any sounds made as his vessel is almost vacant, hearing reduced to a high pitch whine and radio static, and each time his eyes try to drift open, overwhelmed by light, they scrunch tightly shut once more.

Indeed, a fair time passes before his breaths become more regulated, his body ceases fitful jerks, relaxing back into the bed, the taste of aromatic tea and bittersweet chocolate the first thing he notes as his senses return. His fingers curl weakly once, then more confidently again, brushing the Warrior’s and Elidibus’ skin. A content sound comes from barely-parted lips, his eyes slowly drifting open to gaze up at the ceiling, listening to the sounds of breath each side of him.

Then, with a stumbled sound, an old record player finding its place, he sings too; drifting and curling around the strands of melody of his lovers, a quiet and reverent song that the three weave together.

His head tilts to look at Elidibus, pale gold lingering with a feeling of… relieved **adoration,** before turning to gaze upon her, thrill and love, his fingers sliding slowly to caress her lower stomach. He lays a kiss upon her forehead, and then turns back to Elidibus, and does the same, a tingle of warm aether in the touch. No longer as viciously suppressed to keep him from losing himself in his ardent claiming of his Hero, the single tendril he had previously manifested disappearing in a flicker of violet aether.

“That was…” he starts, his voice hoarse and gravelly, swallowing sharply to try and smooth out his larynx. “That was…”

He realises he doesn’t have the words, but both feel the _satisfaction_ he wants to express, the thankfulness, the exhausted **bliss** he feels.

  
  


They wait, they rest, the three of them together. It is a blissful, luxurious air that spreads over the room - three satisfied creatures, monsters all, adoring one another in their differing ways, at peace to rest. What he feels is accepted, returned, and made into _more_ as they mingle, happy to merely _be_ for this moment.

She does not allow them to sleep, however, fingers lazily tracing meaningless patterns and shapes over pale skin as it slowly cools to a more comfortable temperature, as their sweat and residue slowly dries or fades. But she does no more than this, soft sigh escaping parted lips that she presses once to his ribs. Elidibus too, is content to merely rest, observing once more, eyes alert and watchful.

There is a soft chuckle, after a time, and her voice is sly, "What, done already? My beautiful beast, surely there is more left in you."

  
  


Hades would be more than content to drift into a deep slumber as he is, bookended by the two he loves, the two he is bonded to. However, the Warrior sees well to keep him awake, trailing fingers across unmarked skin that tickle just enough to make his body twitch, and stuttered chuckles of breath fall from his lips.

"My dear, how is it you have seen so fit to deny me my rest?" he says between little twitches and puffs of almost-laughter. "Or are you truly so insatiable?"

Her words sear heat through his body, a soft grunt as he feels that warmth settle into aching, spent flesh that already swells, ever so slightly, a twitch of the beginning of arousal, his body ready for more while his mind still spins.

"Do not blame me for my exhaustion. I think you will find it is our mild-mannered - well, I _thought_ he was mild-mannered - companion that stifled me into not loving you..." a brush of gilded claws, four pale white eyes opening to regard her with a predatory smile, "...In the way I am wont to do, hero."

And then that little show of change is gone, mortal guise once more. He is exhausted, but oh, oh how he feels his body start to cry for more, a faint pulse between his thighs becoming all the more prominent in his mind.

  
  


Barking laughter rings throughout the room, peals of bells sounding from a mortal throat as the Hero is overcome with mirth. Her breath comes in heaving gasps with her levity, one hand pressing to hold that shifting Dark inside of her, and she brushes the happy wetness from her eyes by means of burrowing her face onto his torso.

"You assume so readily it is for _myself_ that I speak!" her voice is cheeky, but honest. "I'll have it be known that I am _quite satisfied,_ thank you. Between yesterday and this double helping of the two of you, I think I'm quite content."

But nails gently bite into his ribs, his belly, his thigh - tracing a pattern, a _tease_ as she does so.

"No, not for myself. There is another whom you have yet to satisfy," her voice drops close to an entire octave, eyes sly as she looks at him from beneath her lashes.

Indeed, an alert, observant gaze bores into Hades' face from where their other lover lays. Predatory, perhaps, but waiting. Patient, ever patient, as the Emissary is wont to be, but Elidibus makes his agreement with the Warrior known by the flexing of his fingers, kneading into flesh as he waits for gold eyes to turn to him.

  
  


He smiles as she laughs, leaning into her, fingers curling and tendrils snaking across her body in a slow, jovially teasing caress. "Are you certain, my love? I am quite sure you have expressed that you simply cannot get enough of me. I might say that your endurance for a mortal is quite remarkable; maybe one day you could even beat-"

Interrupted by her following words, the pinch of nails against soft skin, leaving pink marks on his vessel that mark him, however temporarily, as hers. His bottom lip curls to tuck into his teeth in a soft bite, a blush spreading across his cheeks as that _throb_ between his legs is louder in his mind, making him squirm as he feels a second hand's nails bite into his skin. Oh.

Oh, oh...

He swallows loudly, regaining his composure even as his breath struggles to stay even. Breaking his gaze from that look she gives him, so delicious, so tempting that a tendril absently slides across the insides of her thighs...

_No, Hades, no._

A full breath fills his lungs and that self assured smile creeps back onto his face, turning to regard Elidibus, only a moment of hesitation as his eyes meet the patient, predatory gaze.

"Elidibus! You sly dog; you really _must_ ask me for these things. Never were much of a talker though, were you? Do not worry, I'm sure I will be _more_ than able to satisfy whatever you crave that you cannot give voice," he prattles, but the way his words occasionally catch, the way his breaths are heated and shaking, the way the touch of velvet tendrils trembles against the Emissary, and how his arousal aches, firm and twitching all give away how flustered and how much he _wants_ the man tucked against him.

  
  


Slowly, a small smile - a smirk - creeps upon Elidibus' lips as he listens to the bluster of the other man. "I seem to recall you finding my speech to be quite dull to your liking," spoken softly, eyes latched onto that golden gaze. It was the truth on the surface, ever had the Architect complained about how _boring_ the Emissary was, how he tended to _worry._

"Though I do believe you would sing my praises in the next breath," his ribcage vibrates against Hades' side with how he chuckles.

He gives no other words, merely actions chased by two flavors of amusement - slow and thick is his own, almost cloying, and sharp - almost _electric_ \- from the Warrior as she watches the proceedings with an impish smile. There is a sense of knowing from her, of what is about to happen. Elidibus seizes long, slender fingers in his own and, with some slight shifting, draws them down to run along his lower back, the swell of his buttocks, delving into the cleft between.

Slickness meets their fingers. Drying, slowly, but still slick, and as he brings the other Ascian's fingertips to gently probe around his entrance, it gives easily. He had been prepared, obviously so, _thoroughly so,_ and was _quite_ ready.

Those watchful eyes _burn._

  
  


There's only a small tic in the way that his gaze struggles to meet that of the other Ascian's, smirking in return. "Had you not thought that perhaps the words you were speaking were the bore to me? Absolutely thoroughly uninteresting," he teases, gently freeing his other hand from the Warrior to caress down Elidibus' stomach. "You do worry, my dear, but ever have I found the sound of your voice..."

_Comforting. Delightful. Beautiful. Enthralling. Chilling. Arousing._

"Quite to my tastes."

A light furrow of his brow as the Emissary grasps his fingers, sliding them down, down, until they meet slickness, a surprised breath escaping Hades' mouth as with little more prompting his digits caress and fondle Elidibus' entrance, slick and pliant and... Realizing that this was wholly to make himself ready for Hades. The Keeper of the Underworld blushes so hard he feels dizzy from the lack of blood in his brain, his free hand gripping the other man tight as with renewed, almost unnatural muscle strength he pulls them both up, kneeling, his lips locking with the other in an uncontrolled deluge of emotion. That Elidibus could want him too, after so long, so many times that the Emissary had been there for him-

**_Adoration._ **

His lips break from that desperate, overwhelmed kiss, a light breath of a chuckle on the air. "But if you would speak, use that beautiful voice to tell me what it is that you desire, won't you?" It is not teasing, the way he speaks, but _pleading._

Light kisses pepper along Elidibus' neck and shoulder, one hand caresses his side, around his ribs, and the other teases his entrance further, slipping a finger within to caress and rub delicate flesh. His arousal presses firmly against his lower waist, still coated in release and aether, a heavy pulse of need in engorged muscle making slippery pre well at the tip.

As much as he wants action, as much as he already knows the answer to his question, he would hear it from the lips of the other man first, so he could _finally_ hear, _know,_ that he is wanted, in the same way he wants him

  
  


His tongue is cool where it slips along Hades' fever-hot mouth, chasing those lips as the other man pulls back for one final touch, beseeching words registering with a soft chuckle. Elidibus does not answer right away, allowing his partner to shower him with affection, to kiss and caress, to _explore_ the precipice that the two of them stand upon. The clever finger that slips inside is met with that same coolness as before, the heat of the Emissary's host body remaining only surface deep.

Words do not come first, he responds with _actions._ One hand drifts along the markings that ring his neck, his shoulders, his collar, ties plain even in the waking world, even on this borrowed body - they would follow him to each form, now, a blatant display. As fingertips brush first silvery shimmer, the Warrior shivers, the tingle of aether sliding up her spine. Hades' mark is next, faint glimmer catching the light as it, too, is lavished with attention. It is as if Elidibus touches their souls, yet remains purely _physical,_ the sensation here on their mortal bodies.

That exploring hand moves to touch his own black mark upon Hades' chest, handprint matching exactly - eclipsed by his touch. The smile he gives is warm, delicate, and his other hand drifts down to grasp _both_ of their arousals together. He pumps them but once, smearing the pre from twin erections along eager flesh.

"I desire you, Hades," his voice is quiet, ancient language falling like music from fluent lips. "That is all. I desire you in every way you will give me, I desire to be had by every way you will have me."

**_I love you, you blind fool._ **

  
  


His breath tremors, his gaze not breaking from Elidibus' as he feels that strange touch of aether within his soul from contact so physical, perhaps not yet knowing, fully, the entirety of what those inky stains of aether _do._ His heart squeezes and thrashes in his chest, making his breaths unsteady, a vessel unruly in the hands of an anxious master. Such is the beat of his heart that Elidibus can feel it not just through the touch of his fingers upon Hades' chest, but through the lightless, black mark that claims him, trickled through the nerves of his torso.

Swallowing audibly as the other man squeezes just the once upon both arousals, his voice breaks in a plea, "Elidibus, please," the sound is barely above a whisper, needy and overwhelmed with emotion, "I need to hear you say it..." His hand squeezes upon the Emissary's hip, thumb caressing soft, unmarked skin, and his lips grace just above those of the other man's, waiting and finally sharing the breath that speaks the words he has been so desperate to hear.

"I know," are the only further words he speaks as his lips become occupied with Elidibus', warm tongue seeking cool, an adoring, slow, passionate kiss as he presses his body firmly against the other, one hand bracing Elidibus tight while the other still teasingly fingers slick entrance.

**_I love you, I love you too, I have loved you for so long, so long,_ ** he rambles, smiling in the kiss, his eyes damp, the cool touch of gold from one hand trailing up the other man's side, and back down again, leaving faint red marks on his skin. He is reluctant to break this kiss, this touch, as if he could consume the other's endless darkness this way, but _this_ is not enough, and leaving with just two soft kisses as he offers a gentle yet **_hungry_ ** smile to the other.

Fingers slip from Elidibus' entrance, leaving him empty, but not for long as with soft urging, pressure from his hands, Elidibus turns to press his back against Hades' chest, the barely-disguised monster rumbling a low sound against the smaller man. Slick, hot flesh, drooling slippery pre slides against his rear, slipping between the cleft, pausing, leaving a steady pressure against well-prepared muscle.

"In every way?"

His voice is a purring tease, and with no wait for a response his hips push forward, his hand pulling Elidibus' hips back at the same time, letting out a soft moan of bliss as his shaft meets the coolness within, pressing slowly, firmly until he reaches his hilt, letting both of them accustom as he shudders. Soft panting breaths escape his chest, kissing the Emissary's neck and leaving a soft graze of sharp teeth.

"I have wanted this - wanted _you_ for so long, Elidibus. You are," his body gives an involuntary lurch, "-so beautiful. Was it truly ‘just business’ when you were there?"

His hips pull back, blunted gold claws on both hands, one holding a hip and the other raking delicately across Elidibus' chest; he is aware of the relative frailty of this vessel, and for all the ravenous _lust_ that can be clearly felt over the bond, he holds himself back. Hips push forward again, bottoming out inside the other man once more, _mewling_ in pleasure.

**_I want to fill you, like I do her, I want my aether to stain yours, your vessel, I want you to be mine._ **

Tendrils curl around the other man's vessel, anywhere his hands do not roam. Soft and velvety, one caresses the Emissary's arousal, tender and gentle in dextrous motion. 

**_I love you, I love you,_ ** he does not _speak_ but the way he whispers it in aether like a mantra feels like he would choke if he did not express it.

  
  


It is surprising how gentle the touches are, how tender the words spill forth, despite how _hungry_ the monster beneath him remains. Elidibus senses the want even as he is guided, this new position perhaps even more sentimental than the previous - his well-prepared entrance easing the slide of hard flesh inside of him as clawed hands pull him down. He cannot help the shudder, the _relief_ at the desire for this, so long held, finally being fulfilled. 

In comparison to his own inner chill the warmth of Hades within him is almost _burning,_ a stuttered gasp escaping from parted lips as the tantalizing brush of fangs prickle against his skin. "In every way, yes, do you think me so fragile that I cannot accept all of you?" the first few thrusts steal the depth of his breath, shallow pants chase the motion between them.

The words do not come to the Emissary, eyes falling shut as he leans back against his lover. That joined song, however, sings the truth, sings what he cannot give voice to with mere words.

**_You have never been merely business, Hades. I did my duty as expected, but forever did I long for you._ **

Heat flushes his face despite his cooler makeup when sin spills from the other man, heart quickening, pulse pounding in his ears. Oh, to be colored in such a way, to be _claimed_ in such a way, marked and debauched and taken so irrevocably that neither of them could deny it - he moans at the feeling of pliant flesh upon his skin even before his neglected length is touched. He wants the monster, wants this touch, one hand reaching behind himself to grasp at dark locks of hair, turning his head far enough to just brush their lips together. The other reaches down, finding that bracing hand, those blunted claws and interlacing their fingers.

The Warrior hears that mantra, sees how Elidibus _wants_ despite how Hades holds back, and a sly smile once again crosses her face. "So you're enjoying all the work my fingers did?" she practically _purrs,_ shifting so that she was within reach but far enough away that she could observe freely. "Good, time well spent, then." One hand caresses her lower belly, playing with the movement of dual aether inside, tracing the lines of Hades' brand upon her skin.

Monstrous, endless shadow reaches for the subdued beast inside of that mortal, Garlean shell. Even as outwardly his breath hitches, as his hips roll in time to those slow thrusts, he stretches through that space - darkness seeping, creeping along like black fog. He finds the beast and slowly wraps himself around, finding that maw - so ready, so _wanting,_ so **_hungry._ **

So he will _feed._

Slipping like mist past razor teeth, he eases his aether into the other man. Allowing him to suckle greedily, allowing him to drink deep - he was vast, he could stand so much, much _more._

"I am not so delicate that you must limit yourself so," breathless words, musical ancient tongue gasped out between hitches. "Take this vessel, take all you desire, take _me."_

**_I wish to be yours, please._ **

  
  


“I think you delicate in _vessel,_ Emissary,” Hades lilts softly to him, a slow rhythm of hips, ensuring each sinks deep, gliding firmly past the tender centre of nerves that would make Elidibus shiver against him in a _deliciously_ mortal way. He revels in how he makes breath draw short, so much effect even as mortal-formed as he is, adjusting his grip to pull him in tighter, firmer, kissing the nape of his neck, the edge of his ears, lavishing adoration onto him so tenderly despite monstrousness coming back to its senses within.

His ears burn with the heat of a blush. He had already guessed _why_ the other Ascian was so ready for him but hearing her croon it so proudly steals an undignified moan, especially as from the corner of his eye he watches her play with the light pressure formed in her pelvis, the touch on the brand trailing up his spine. He cannot help the sudden sharp thrust, pulling Elidibus _hard_ onto his lap by the grip of tentacles around his thighs, razor-sharp teeth almost finding purchase in a shoulder but stopping just short. He stops for a moment, shaking breaths as he swallows that desire to tear through and taste beneath skin.

“You **_know_ ** what you ask,” he murmurs throatily, cradling Elidibus’ jaw as he pulls hair to keep him close, lips just barely brushing. Elidibus _does_ know. During his duty, within what Hades believed for so long was _merely business,_ he has seen, soothed, _smothered_ the monster he can be, he _knows_ exactly what he is beneath the flesh he borrows, beneath the flesh he _once had._ Eldritch, abyssal.

_Beautiful._

Pushing himself back into that rhythm, steady and almost teasing, any sense of speeding up is so slow it is almost impossible to notice. His lips press against the other’s, moving softly, soft grazes and nicks of sharp teeth letting Hades taste cold, yet mortal coppery blood and can’t help but let out a disgruntled whine at that. A delicate, dextrous tendril slides against the tip of his arousal, spreading slippery fluid across heated flesh while one squeezes, milking the Emissary for more.

Hades has done a very good job of retaining this soft, near-mortal lovemaking, but as the taste of Elidibus’ aether starts to permeate his own, pressing deep, deep into his soul to not subdue but to _nourish_ a near-tamed monster he lets out a groan in his throat, muffled by the kiss he holds.

**_Elidibus…_ **

Within he is almost meek in how he sups on the bittersweet flavoured offering of aether with sweet trills and purrs of delight, but _oh_ how **_starving_ ** he is, and soon gentle laps and bites become ravenous gulps, unable to conceal just how much he has longed to taste the other, how parched of such ambrosian aether he has felt that with a cthonic snarl he _gorges_ on everything the lightless shadow that is Elidibus has to offer.

Hades lurches physically, breaking the kiss as a name, the Emissary’s **_name_ ** escapes his tongue in a sharp outward breath. Renewed, gleaming and razor-sharp claws have sunk into Elidibus’ hip, and the one at his jaw, dragged down, just resting beneath his ribs, skin cleanly split open. A tendril coiled around his neck that squeezes just enough to make the other man feel lightheaded. Aether surges, and skin neatly knits back together where claws do not keep it open, and the tendril around his neck loosens.

**_“You know what you ask,”_ ** he repeats, sonorous and warbling as he still feeds from that near endless well of bittersweet aether, the motion of his hips sharper, trembling as everything, _everything_ begins to overwhelm him, the throb of his arousal aching, moreso for how monstrous pushes to the fore, how it makes Elidibus tight around him. The grip of more hands trails with scythes at their tips, worrying skin into weeping red, an acute gaze of four white eyes with cheekbones accented by pale, silvery bone.

**_“I want-”_ **

_-to hear you cry for me._

**_“I want-”_ **

_-to feast on your aether._

**_“I want-”_ **

_-you to make me yours._

**_“I want-”_ **

_-you to stain me with your aether._

Balanced on the edge of his peak, thrusts all but sparse, sharp bucks that keep him hilted.

**_“I do not want to break you.”_ **

He pants, almost drooling, claws still sunk, tearing furrows that heal as soon as they are inflicted.

**“** **_But I will make you mine.”_ **

  
  


Finally, his lover inches forward, inches towards having him as he truly is, and from Elidibus pulses the sense of **_indulgence, satisfaction_ ** echoing throughout. His name is called and his cock is _teased,_ several tendrils now forcing lashes to flutter shut, the soft exhale drawn in sharply as he continues to allow Hades to glut himself upon the endless dark. 

Skin is split and pierced, blood tasted and oozing from wounds reluctantly given.

Under closed eyes, the Emissary _smiles,_ a thing of **_teeth._ **

There is a sense of _shifting,_ as he continues to feed his own aether to his lover. He has plenty, more than Hades could ever hope to devour in weeks let alone one coupling - and it _rolls._ There is a low note, sung out like a clear bell, a _pulse._

Where Hades is joined with him, where he plunges inside, that coolness turns to _ice._ Claws sink deep in flesh, but no longer does mortal essence show - furrows are drawn, claws clutch, yet beneath that delicate outer shell is a sea of _stygian blackness._ It holds his form, skin stitching together as if on its own accord - the blackness does not leak, it merely _is._ Bones are but solid darkness, flesh now flush with aether, flush with _him,_ soul brought fully to the surface.

Eyes open, revealing dark pits, sable in their entirety as they devour all light they catch. His flesh tastes of his soul, now, and with that predator's smile, he rolls his hips down, once, _twice._

**_"You cannot break the Dark."_ **

_You would not, regardless._

**_"Stop denying yourself, Hades."_ **

_Take me, use me, come undone._

  
  


Every part of him strains to keep ravenous monstrosity within, feasting and drinking until inside he groans with satiation… and continues to consume, overfull; but while Elidibus offers he will _take._ Claws and talons sink into the blackness coiled around him, clutching and groping and raking through, needing more, more, _more_ but he cannot find that satisfaction within.

The coolness in the waking world spreads, turns to ice and steals a strangled gasp. Bittersweet chocolate and rich, dark tea fill Hades nostrils and now he drools freely. A low rumble thrums in his chest and his melody in the song he shares with the other man turns, twists into something abyssal that tells of need. Hips twitch weakly, holding him at the precipice, ice burning against his cock but as Elidibus rolls his hips, he tremors.

**_You are mine._ **

A second roll and Hades unravels, losing himself to primal desire, his shaft swelling, throbbing with each pulse of comparatively boiling release, filling Elidibus with hot, liquid aether that weighs heavy, suffusing and marking everywhere it reaches with the deep cherry hue of the monster taking him, even as lightless black blooms across his body.

His drooling maw latches onto Elidibus' shoulder, razor teeth tearing through skin to coat his mouth with bittersweet aether, soon finding purchase on bone, straining, grunted growls that accompany the sound of bone splintering. Fingers against his chest claw and rake, deeper each time, splitting skin until gold claws catch on bone, diving deep to lace between ribs and feel the pounding of a half-mortal heart, fingers curling against bones to pull the other Ascian tight with each aborted jolt of his hips. Scythe talons rend and tear hips and thighs, taking, claiming, everything now his, _his,_ **_his._**

The pulse of liquid aether gives way for a clutch, firm spheres that weigh heavy in Elidibus' gut, the monster tearing him apart filling him until his body strains against it, but it is a faint complaint amongst the others, bones straining, breath laboured as a tendril squeezes tight around Elidibus' throat; its tapered end forces past lips to sink deep, throat-fucking the Emissary on top of everything, _everything_ Hades does as he ravages, takes all he wants.

The bone in Hades' mouth shrieks in its final moments before it shatters, and mouth and face bloodied with nothing but pure Dark, he consumes as if starved, slicing through flesh, swallowing, crushing bones-

Everything outside this moment is gone. Hades is barely there. But he shows in how the hand not gripping ribs and caressing Elidibus' heart presses clawlessly against his lower belly, where his body strains with the clutch he still continues to pump into him, ceasing only when the pressure is such that those heavy, hot spheres of aether might burst otherwise. 

**_Mine._ **

The frantic clawing and feasting slows, but he does not cease, heaving breaths as his climax subsides, drawing teeth from the crater he has gnawed into Elidibus' shoulder, letting it heal, and then sinking in again to scrape flesh from bone, murmuring in delight as he swallows, and repeats the action again, again, again until he cannot possibly consume more, belly full until it aches.

Hips rock gently, lovingly as all his claws sink past skin, fat and muscle to hold the other man close by his very bones, an action of intimacy that could only be understood, delighted in by another monster.

**_I love you._ **

  
  


Elidibus had seen such ferocity before. He had seen claws rend flesh from bone, seen scything talons dig great troughs into bodies over the screaming of their victims, had heard the crunch of bones against fangs as that slavering maw sought to devour all it could - the hunger so rarely sated. Never before had it been turned on _him,_ however, and the seething dark _ripples_ as Hades loses himself, loses control, throwing himself headlong into the fury and fervor of a rutting _beast._

Fluid fills him, aether eagerly accepted, the stain of that flood willingly borne and displayed - yet not a drop spills. It _absorbs_ into his body, into his soul, as the line between where the physical and nonphysical begin to blur within the Emissary. His heart beats against golden claws but it is a phantom's heart - half there, betrayed by the way the flesh dissolves into that familiar formed darkness. It serves as sustenance for the starving monster just the same as mortal flesh, turning to a dark onyx the moment it parts from his vessel.

Then, buried deep, pressed _deeper,_ those formed sacs of aether fill him from within. A tentacle fills both mouth and throat and stifles the _moan_ that would otherwise escape, smaller body laid to waste over and over and _over_ as the monstrosity beneath, around, _within_ him chases the pulses of ecstasy. 

His bones give way but they are not bones, they are crystalline lattices of obsidian, flecked with tiny shards of violet, dotted with silver-blue and cherry-red. They reform almost instantly - and if the Emissary feels pain he does not show it, for what pain could surpass what he feels from his lover in that moment?

Yet still he does not end, does not crest the edge of pleasure into bliss.

Hades touches where he is full, where he too bears an undeniable, physical _proof_ of what they have done. Alike to the Warrior he is, and there is the sense for a brief moment of those infinite depths glancing to meet her eyes, as she observes, now, rather than he. She flashes a smile, small, satisfied, _happy_ for them, and his gaze returns to the monster who slowly calms - the feast coming to an end, frantic gorging at last finished.

Talons plunge deep, false skin, false tissue, false _body_ giving way to grasp upon those bonelike structures, and it is with violent tenderness that the creature who had been his colleague - his friend, his _lover_ \- pulls him close. He would answer with words, but he cannot, tendril still held deep. Instead, he surges forth with his aether, pulling Hades close within their shared space, a symphony now ringing out instead of mere notes - each delicate emotion bubbling up from within those depths in startling clarity.

Mortal pleasure had not been enough to tip him over the edge, but he basks in the afterglow of his mate regardless.

**_As I love you._ **

Small hands, mortal in appearance yet so much more beneath that shell, slowly stroke over where he may reach. Soft, gentle touches now, a loving caress as Elidibus tries to dote as best he can.

  
  


_Bliss._

Complete, primal, visceral _bliss_ floods overwhelmingly across their bond, the beast holding Elidibus tight as sharp, shuddering jerks of aftershock make claws and talons scrape against crystalline structures beneath abyssal flesh and sinew. The tendril around Elidibus’ throat tightens, _tightens..._

And then the last of the aftershocks pass, velvet flesh unwinding, slipping out from the other man’s throat to cradle his lower belly, the vice grip of claws on bone loosening to give way for gentle caresses to the false yet _satiating_ flesh the vessel bears.

Oh, how he has feasted on so many poor souls caught in his ravenous, starving, flesh and aether-hungry _agonising_ fugue states, waking from them still wracked by pangs that he could never satisfy and a horror at his own actions. Yet here he groans, drooling and mouthing toothlessly at the Ascian’s shoulder, unable to consume any more.

_Relief._

Endless hunger finally satiated for the first time in, in…

Hades cannot remember. But he revels in it, gorged on aether and blackened flesh, his tongue slipping from lips to groom and taste the Emissary’s skin in broad strokes, moving from shoulder, to neck, to throat. For a moment it could be believed that he is but a split second from devouring Elidibus entirely in another fever of starvation but instead, the beast _purrs,_ a deep and thrumming noise that vibrates through the not-quite-mortal body he holds so intimately.

Within, the presences are mirrored, counterbalanced; a smaller monster held in the arms of near infinite Dark, Hades kissing from chin, to throat, lower still. Claws find purchase upon Elidibus’ chest and drive in, pulling and tearing back until with a desperate **_love_ ** his lips alight onto the freezing heart of his lover, lavishing it with reverent adoration with lips and tongue, a bass-toned rumble of melody enriching the symphony the other erupts into. _Bliss, adoration, relief, contentment, love,_ all of which expressed in ways that could not be done in any tongue, mortal or ancient. The intensity of feeling drifts from the two to her, ancient and powerful enough to steal the breath from her body, something never meant for mortals to hear, to feel.

This is what he had wanted. This is what he had **needed.** He needed both his Light, and he needed his Dark, both of them, taking the torment, the hunger to _soothe_ and _sate._

Four eyes open in the material plane, hazy, the light of the room overwhelming the beast with a displeased groan, blinking hard once, twice to soothe it. His head turns to the Warrior first, looking for all the world like a cat with a prized catch, before gazing at the state he has made of the Emissary with a pleased rumble, squeezing on crystal bones lightly. Pupil-less white gaze meets that of black pits, dipping his head to kiss bitten lips sloppily, exhaustedly. Parting, he breathlessly purrs the Emissary’s name again, for _that_ is whom he has claimed.

  
  


In comparison to the massive forms within, two monsters embraced far more intimately than any mortal could conceive - she grasps it, barely, with fingertips and the edge of her instincts, but still she _grasps_ it - the flicker of that blue-white glimmer of _her_ is but a spark against the night sky. She approaches anyway, heedless of the way they could end her in an instant, whether with scything claws or smothering night, bold for one so _small_ as she is, form still mortal despite all they have done, will do. One stray thought, an errant sweep of violence, and her life could be snuffed out, and yet in spite of all this, in spite of the eldritch song they now sing in unison, she is fearless

Because she knows that they never would.

The singular star ripples with onyx, with violet and that dark cherry red, and as she steps near the undulating black pulls her closer. Her hands are found, squeezed, _shared,_ held in one curl of dark while another slips her palm against gilded talons. Tiny fingers grasp, interlace where they can, as she _celebrates_ this with them. Her song is but a few notes, yet their melody grows all the more for her inclusion.

Elidibus draws her ever closer, entangling the three of them far beyond separation, and upon that physical bed his eyeless gaze finds hers once more. She smiles, warm, oh, so _warm_ does she smile at the Emissary. This new, wonderful thing they had found, that it could take root, that it could _grow,_ between all three - monsters together at last.

She nods, once, smile turning into a mischievous grin.

Hades basks in what they have done, the euphoria he had found, and the two of them allow it - twin gazes watching, affection beyond words bursting from forged bonds. Elidibus catches that pale gaze when he can, stealing a kiss, preening as the other man dotes upon his form.

**_"Peace at last, Hades?"_ ** hushed, breathy, though the Emissary already knows the answer.

  
  


Drowsy, sated, above all _content,_ Hades draws the glimmering light at the edges of his and Elidibus’ twined monstrosity closer, pulling her in amongst freezing and warm darkness. The knife-edge of starvation is purged from him, letting him revel fully at her aetheric presence. Exploring every part of her that he can touch this way, he smiles and trills and the sounds are entirely _unlike_ him for they carry no undertones of agony or hunger; he is _at rest._

How reverent he is of the infinite abyssal Dark of Elidibus, how adoring he is of the fathomless Light of the Warrior. How he _sings_ of them both, a crescendo in a peaceful, cthonic tune.

Outwards, his fingers squeeze fondly, making crystalline bones sing with the friction of claws and talons before his fingers slip out from the lightless black flesh they had so deeply gripped, caressed and adored, carefully embracing the small, not-quite-mortal body of Elidibus as his hips move to withdraw his receding arousal. Lips find the Emissary’s again, a low, soft rumble and almost cloyingly sweet **_love_ ** threading through their bond.

_Peace?_ A strange thing to even think after-

_He dares not think._

But it is the _only_ word that makes sense for how he feels, full in aether, full in body, full in this ephemeral _something_ he could not fully define in any language he speaks; only the one he sings beneath skin and bones.

A fourfold, pearly white gaze meets an eyeless, abyssal one and Hades is silent for a good long while, missing the gaze Elidibus and the Hero share, too caught up in this moment, that question, trying to find an answer becoming of the _most eminent Emet-Selch,_ but finding none that quite sound right. 

So he touches his lips to the other Ascian’s forehead, ancient tongue barely more than a whisper:

**_“At last.”_ **

  
  


Though the softening arousal is pulled from him, not a drop is spilled from Elidibus - for it was not _mortal_ release, but aether, liquid absorbed, semisolid sacs wedged too deeply to shift as Hades removes himself. The emptiness is strange, after having been so filled, but all thoughts of any oddities are swept from the Emissary's mind as his brow is kissed, the admission sweeping warm over him like a new dawn.

Released now, claws no longer buried in not-flesh, he is free to move, and so he does. In a mirror to the previous night, he turns chest to chest with the monster below him and pushes himself upwards - meeting the much larger form beneath him in a surging kiss, climbing high enough that the beast need not bend his neck. Hades' ravenous hunger may have been sated-

**_But he remained starving._ **

Patient though he may have been, he can no longer stand it as desire rises, he reminds his lover of his own arousal by shifting to _grind_ his hardness against the torso of the other man, of the sated, full monster who so recently claimed him.

**_"I do not wish to part you from this moment too soon,"_ ** threads of _want_ wind through his voice, breathily spoken against lips and fangs. **_"But I would take you as my own."_ **

In this body, in his mortal guise, Elidibus cares not. He wants-

_To feel his lover._

_To stain him with his essence._

_To leave himself inside as he had done to the Warrior._

_To blanket, to cover, to smother, to-_

**_To make you mine._ **

  
  


How eagerly Hades meets the kiss crashing into his lips, a tide of surface warmth and abyssal chill beneath, his tongue sweeping lips and sinking to caress the other man's. There is no pang of starvation to it, merely absolute bliss and adoration pouring through physical and aetheric touch both. Gentler, gilded claws slide over the healed form of Elidibus, a dangerous touch made tender and safe. Tendrils curl around ankles and thighs, sensitive limbs mapping out every detail of the Emissary's body, Hades lost in this reverent afterglow until he feels mortal _heat_ push needfully against him.

He is so, so exhausted. He is _beyond_ spent and yet, sated such as he is, the telltale strain of holding a monstrous form does not pull at him. He feels an almost agonising ache trickle down through his body, trying to respond, to rouse exhausted flesh once more but he _cannot._

But he does not need to, to be had; claimed; made another's. Pressing his forehead to the other's, shivering as he hears his entreaty and cradling Elidibus' cheek with a gold-taloned hand. The rush of _wants_ that permeate him make him visibly swallow, superficially anxious but so deeply twined and bonded with each others' souls Elidibus feels the howling **_need_ ** Hades feels in return.

**_"I love you, Elidibus,"_ ** he purrs softly, sonorous voice vibrating in his chest. **_"Please,"_ ** A kiss to cheek, jaw, a mouthing graze of teeth to the other Ascian's neck. **_"I want to be yours. I want you to claim me so thoroughly nobody could mistake it."_ **

  
  


Intent made clear, the smaller man needs no further permission, and soft, chuckling laughter sweeps over bone-metal cheeks, abyssal gaze seeming to meet that of all four of his lover's eyes at once. Soft skin traces cold patterns over Hades' face, etching a trail, a series of _promises,_ as each detail of the monster is memorized. 

Elidibus knows what it is he has been offered, the vulnerability of such a beast offered up so _freely,_ and a clear, singing note **bursts** through their harmony. He gives another slow grind against the torso of the much larger figure, before with a final lingering kiss shifts himself low, lower, lower _still._

There is the faintest hint of slickness left from before, when he had teased and prodded and explored, but with a thought the Emissary's fingers become covered in black, viscous aether. His focus never leaves the four white eyes, holding that stare even as one digit slips down to tease, circling the entrance before slowly sinking in.

The motion is gentle, a slow rocking of his hand, flexing and curling - a second finger joining the first soon after, working, stretching, fucking open the much larger creature with fingers alone. He takes his time, Elidibus does, ever patient, ever content to _wait,_ and in this, too, he was in no rush despite how his erection _throbs_ against where his hips buck from time to time. The reactions are automatic as he feels out his mate for the very first time, the thin shell of his vessel's mortality growing even _thinner_ the longer he spends there, merely preparing. Three fingers now, and they flex, searching until they brush against that sensitive bundle of nerves he knows that Hades still has, monster though he may be - Elidibus would make this good for him, even if he cannot respond with flesh, the sensations would not be able to be denied.

It progresses slowly, ever so slowly, almost _too_ slowly, and the Champion watches all the while. She watches as, at _last_ Elidibus withdraws his hand, kneeling to position himself, guiding the much larger monster of Hades to allow him easier access. She watches as the Emissary sinks in, first merely the head, but then - ilm by agonizingly slow ilm - his entire length. Eyelids shutter, squeezing closed, covering bottomless voids and she can feel the Emissary's composure slipping. It is not as it had been with her, that controlled motion, maintained regardless of the wild pleasure they _all_ reached - _she was mortal in truth, with a mortal body, he_ **_must_** _maintain control,_ thoughts she had glimpsed through their connection.

So it is **_elation_ ** for their stoic third that seeps from her, curling around the two of them, afterimages of blue-white tendrils visible for instants as her emotions flare, as her other form stirs. It purrs deep within, content to watch, though a thread of yearning emerges, of wanting to make them _both_ feel even better, to help them reach ever higher peaks.

But she does not act, this is _their_ time.

Elidibus pauses, breath coming in great shuddering gasps, sunk to the hilt inside of Hades - his hips are flush against the other man, one hand reaching out to grasp at the nearest tendril, holding _tight_ to pliant velveteen flesh as he desperately attempts to calm himself.

Words spill from his lips like oil, **_"Hades, by His Grace, you feel-"_ **

The Emissary cannot finish, voice breaking as he pulls back to give one single thrust.

**_Exquisite. Warm. Mine._ **

  
  


Lavishing the smaller man - the smaller monster with affectionate kisses for as long as he allows him, Hades rumbles a content noise, even though his heart picks up pace in anticipation, his body so spent yet still aching for more, for _this._ Even just the gentlest first touch of Elidibus’ fingers to his entrance makes him draw a shaking breath, giving way for a soft moan as one aether-slick finger presses within. Everything is overwhelming, aching and nerves on fire at every touch but _oh_ how wonderful it feels as clever, patient fingers work him.

Each soft, almost mortal sound is another note to the song, escaping into the physical from the tight coils of aetheric lovemaking, the monster within trilling in delight, letting his aether not just curl and tangle with that of the stygian Dark, but **_mix_ ** instead, erasing where one soul ends and the other’s soul begins, every last note, everything Hades thinks, _feels,_ there for Elidibus to take as he would see fit.

Hades’ body draws tight, his back arching as the Emissary’s fingers slip against tender, _delighted_ flesh within; head tipping back and eyes closing as he trembles at the careful touch. Two tendrils slide against barely-human skin, one gently caressing the man’s jaw, the other resting at his hip.

**“El..Elid… Elidibus…”** he whimpers, scythe claws sinking into bedding as three almost-mortal fingers rock, curl and work his prostate, and while spent flesh is too exhausted to swell once more, the slow, persistent motion makes clear pre weep from his tip. In a vain attempt to muffle his unbecoming mewls he bites down on the knuckles of his fingers, starry black blood soon dripping down his chin as he trembles.

By the time Elidibus withdraws his fingers, Hades is drawing shuddering breaths, unable to climax but so _overwhelmed_ with pleasure, given by one he has desired so, _so_ long yet denied himself… and yet Elidibus has not even claimed him, so when the plush head of the Emissary’s shaft sinks within, it is a ragged _gasp_ that fills his chest. Shaking, clawed fingers thread through his hair, feeling just how thin, and thinner still the shell of his vessel becomes, how that eternal, phlegmatic disposition begins to break as he hilts.

Sounds of agonised ecstasy break free from his lips as fingers close around a tendril, nails digging into velvety flesh, pulling it freely against the muscle beneath. Twitching, writhing, the sensitive limb wraps tight around the man’s wrist, constricting and squeezing in return. A blasphemy escapes the monstrous Ascian’s lips as that first thrust pushes sensible thought from him, taking his god’s name in vain as he slumps further down, rocking his hips back against Elidibus’ in unabashed _want_ for him, to be had like this, to be had like _anything,_ **_any way_ ** that the other man would have him. To let him fall and indulge not in the same way, but in _his_ way.

His gaze finds that of hers, just for a fleeting moment. A touch of plush velour against her skin, nothing more capable than acknowledging that _yes, you are here,_ before another flex of Elidibus’ fingers around the one he grips make stars bloom in Hades’ eyes, stealing the sight of her from his vision.

**“How long have I wanted to be…”**

**_Yours._ **

  
  


In the course of pursuing his duty, Elidibus had taken few indulgences for himself - and they always served to further his path, testing the Champion's abilities, comforting his fellow Ascian when his bestial nature drove him to monstrous deeds. He had never once taken something for him alone, even this coupling, jointly between Warrior and Emet-Selch, would serve to fulfil his goal of equilibrium.

But his hips thrust again, sliding home into eager flesh, drawing helpless cries from the man below, and all aspects of responsibility, of balance, are driven from his mind as pleasure carves itself into his thoughts. He does not dwell on _why,_ how he of all souls would be allowed this, and yet as a rippling shudder passes over his skin he ceases to **care.**

Eyes of pitch snap open as a second shudder wracks his vessel, drawing that monstrosity of aether within closer to the surface. The sable spreads, staining skin, crawling across his face until there is naught but emptiness from nose to hairline - closer to the soul, he is drawn, as deep cherry and violet mix with black, blending twin consciousness into something _more._ There is a pulse now, a beat beneath their song, a tide rocking to and fro, and with each movement the flow of it grows. It swells and rises, icy darkness overwhelming to the spot of warmth - but instead of consuming he surrounds, circling, Hades cast adrift on the sheer _mass_ of him.

The sharp thrusts become a rhythm, patience eaten alive by lust as Elidibus chases the feeling of claiming, taking everything, taking **_all_ ** he is given. Last vestiges of that stoic façade are clung to by the tips of fingernails, matching the way he clutches that tentacle in his hand. His other finds Hades' hip and holds tight enough to _bruise_ even the armored monstrous flesh, and at a particularly angled thrust his mate moans a slightly higher pitch-

**_His control snaps._ **

From beneath, within, from that endless well of Darkness _boiling_ beneath the skin, viscous fluid begins to flow. It appears first as vapor, smoke draping over that pale back, reminiscent of how it billows within, before solidifying into _mass._ The rhythm continues, Emissary and Architect long since forgotten - they are only two monsters now, two complete souls rutting and mating and _taking_ after thousands and thousands of years.

The black aether crawls forward like ink over Hades' body, gaining ground as it gains semblance akin to that of fleshy tendrils, interconnected so finely that they form a single blanket. It flows in time to their pulse within, in time to thrusts without, surging forward each time Elidibus does. Oh, he feels each sensation the black mass does, as it covers more and more of his lover, molding itself to fit every curve, every edge, every _crease._

That host is shaking now, sweat an obvious sheen as his thrusts grow more desperate, seeking to drive even deeper, seeking to grind against sensitive nerves with each now frantic motion, breathing nothing but gasping moans, euphoric as the stygian field on the bed grows.

It reaches the beast's mouth, brushing his lips, asking for entry - only here does he ask, the multitude writhing and pressing and squeezing against every other exposed ilm of skin, of plating, of claws. It reaches for all four arms, for legs, engulfing the softened shaft with an undulating pulse, relentless in the motions as those false tendrils _wriggle._

**_Make you mine, take you as mine, drag you into the deepest Dark with me, let me, let me, please please please-_ **

Mortal skin vibrates as icy touch waits, _begging_ even as he _takes._

The Hero looks on, smile fierce, because _this is how it should be._

  
  


Hades is drowning.

Hades is drowning and he takes _bliss_ in it, willingly submerging himself into Elidibus until only the very core of him remains.

His soul, every part of his aether only knows the abyssal Dark, surrounding him as a sea of light-consuming nothingness, pushed to the brink of himself in ecstatic lust, tipping him beyond his own consciousness, deeper into the monster laying beneath layers and layers of higher instinct. Yet he does not fight back, he only submits with eagerness, allowing Elidibus to take him, his aether, his vessel.

A binary star of violet-gold and quicksilver-blue sings in an ocean of lightlessness, a swell, harmonised keening in ecstasy with each thrust, begging Elidibus shed his outer shell and show Hades the monster he knows lurks beneath dense armour of calmness. The two tangled, mixed, he hears how the other strains, he catches moments of what the other thinks, and he feels…

He feels…

**Everything.**

Violent jerks wrack his body each time Elidibus sinks deep, sinking gold claws into his own flesh, tearing open skin to let viscous, star-swirled blood run free, the cloying sweetness of his soul blending with the aromatic, rich bitterness of the other’s. Groaning growls wrest free from his body, hissing as the vice grip is joined by a second bruising one at his hip, forcing hard feather-scales to flex in its intensity, dull lilac skin blooming into black under the force of the grip.

Coldness wicks across his body, tingling, writhing even though it sticks to skin and chitin, shuddering as **_Yes, yes, yes,_ ** the other man’s control breaks down. Four eyes drift open, vision blurred, speckled with light and dark as he stares aimlessly at the ceiling, his thighs tremoring, squeezing, holding Elidibus in place whenever a vicious thrust makes him cry, his voice cracking, breaking. Every nerve in his body sears, his heartbeat creating a throb that he feels in his hands, in his ears, dripping down to his pre-slick shaft, twitching listlessly as still, his body tries.

The gilded talons in his chest grip, sink and _pull,_ skin unfurling to reveal shimmering tar beneath, groaning in some form of relief as the lightless, stygian blanket sinks into the wounds, curls around his fingers and creeps higher. Halted spasms of his hips and body make sure that the other sinks deep every time, ragged breaths huffed through his nose while his body squeezes around Elidibus.

Covered almost entirely, with the pressure of Elidibus’ pitch squeezing around exhausted arousal, it is without a moment of hesitation that Hades’ lips part, his tongue caressing the multitude of tendrils pleading to take every ilm of his body. A low grunt escapes his nose as the darkness fills and coats his mouth, its bittersweet chill sinking past teeth and tongue to his throat. Gagged, his moans muffled it is instead in aether that his mewls of pleasure are given full voice, piercing both Elidibus and the Warrior through flesh and bone, a reverent submission.

**_Yours. Yours. Always been yours. Have me, take me._ ** **_Break me if you must._ **

Elidibus’ pleas claw through his mind and soul, his body lurching and trembling in an unreachable peak, muffled _sobs_ as he is held at the edge of a climax he cannot have, yet revels in all the same. He is dizzy; the feel of his mate rutting him, how he drifts in lightless pitch almost entirely claiming his body and soul pushing all the last mortal-like thoughts from his mind. Slowly, as pitch creeps across his body, as lightlessness surrounds his soul, the only thing he knows is Elidibus, laying himself bare and vulnerable for the other unsundered; the other Ascian could erase him entirely, but as Elidibus trusted him to feast without consuming, Hades trusts the Dark to not snuff him out.

  
  


Warmth.

Everything is so warm, _Hades_ is so warm, and he is so, so frigid, but as seeping dark tendrils plunge within his lover's mouth - covering his face now entirely, that cocooning blanket at last complete - for the first time Elidibus allows the burn to thaw him. His entire body shudders now, host vessel at its limits, black mist rising, swirling up and out, filling the room and blotting out everything save for they three. An island of bedding and lust and love, the Hero a glimmering diamond in the night.

Thrusting deep, deeper, taking Hades both below and _above_ now, Elidibus hears him speak, **_feels_ ** the sounds, how desperate his lover tries to crest just one more time. Blackness fucks that mouth, that throat, the bulging of Hades’ throat kept in brutal time with faltering hips, proper rhythm long forgotten as pistoning thrusts strain for that burst on the horizon. Elidibus sprints towards the finish, now, mind gone, thoughts blank but for mortal pleasures and _aetheric_ lovemaking, mingling further and further with Hades until they are almost one.

**_Trust_ ** staggers the Emissary, a broken cry ripping from his worn throat as black ichor dribbles from his lips, oozing down his chin to drip upon both pale and lilac skin. They merge _further,_ and through that union Elidibus reaches forth, clutching Hades' essence to him - his body may be unable to on its own, but Elidibus would **_force_ ** it.

_His lover would crash down with him._

The shriek is otherworldly as they both finally crash through to the end, cutting off as mortal vocal cords give out, but piercing to the very souls of all present. She is not immune, reaching to place a hand on each of her lovers as they fall, presence pulsing in time to their hearts.

With one final thrust, Elidibus buries himself as every muscle in his body tenses, hunching over as a glacial flood spurts into his lover in the most intimate of ways. Thick, viscous aether containing those solidified orbs pours into Hades, more and more and **_more_ ** until no more could possibly be contained, the excess gushing out to stain the bed below - and yet Elidibus is not yet finished. 

The tendrils in his lover's throat spasm, twisting into one, pulsating, and that flood continues _above_ as it had below. The release is the color of the void, dotted with violet and silver as inevitably some trickles from the corners of that fanged mouth. He empties himself into Hades, coaxing his lover to swallow again and again and again and _again-_

That belly may be full of his false not-flesh, but now he would feed him with this clutch.

**_Stain you, claim you, take it all, mine mine mine minemineminemine-_ **

The Emissary is no more, only the baying of a howling _beast_ is left, rattling breaths a growl while the orgasm wipes everything he is away. Joined as he is with Hades, the other man experiences both at once - that forced orgasm upon his body as well as that which causes the smaller vessel to convulse.

In truth, it lasts for several moments, but it feels as eternity.

**_Break together,_ ** she whispers, fervent.

  
  


There is only Elidibus. Hungry shade coats his body, blinding him, deafening him, taking every last sense he has and making its only thing he knows. Exhausted, shuddering bows of his spine, tilting his head back as not to choke entirely on the darkness filling his throat, fingers squeezing around his own neck, not pinned, not smothered but so very _heavy._ Pushed and held at an insurmountable wall of bliss his voice gives out, contractions of his chest and diaphragm revealing that each outward breath is a gagged and broken scream.

Hades feels himself slipping, sinking, losing the last threads of himself to base desire, to Elidibus, writhing beneath the blanket of dark, bracing scything talons into shrouded wall and floor, plaster and wood mutely splintering, flaking, breaking, _shattering_ under the strength of it. Gilded talons claw at his chest, driven to the brink of madness, each thrust wrenching violent convulsions, desperate, desperate, **desperate, please,** **_please, help, I need-_ **

Dragged down by force, the core of him pulled tight against the other, his senses are overtaken with _light_ as white bursts behind his eyes, the song drawn into a matched shriek of ecstasy. Hades’ aether swells, surging forth for claws, talons, teeth and tendrils to pierce and grip Elidibus’ soul, a plea escaping - **_don'tletgo_ ** \- between broken, prayer-like exaltations, every nerve in his body and mind crackling in deafening relief. 

Outwardly his body seizes, climax tearing outwards from aether to flesh, all muscles tight, and for a moment there is no breath, there is no beat of a heart. He cannot scream; his throat too full, vocal cords worn out from the cries, sobs and growls Elidibus pulled from borrowed flesh. And then his body goes slack, chest heaving, heart pumping hard as his cock throbs and spills aether and mortal release, firm spheres pooling on his lower stomach.

The feel as Elidibus fills him, the searing difference of cold against warm, intimate flesh as his body strains to contain, twitching at the feel of each new orb pressing deep until he cannot take any more, spilling between him and the other Ascian, only a moment of respite before the tendrils in his mouth pull together and flood his throat; resisting at first, he is **_so full, so full_ ** and yet with an unspoken request, an untouching caress he swallows. Cold, different from the false flesh he had fervently consumed, his throat flexes, bulging around each gout of Elidibus’ clutch, consuming every last sac of aether.

It is too much. It is _too much,_ **_too much,_ ** and his vessel strains not just to contain the dual clutches of his lover but _Hades himself,_ a crack breaking through the howling cries of aether and pounding of his heart as a fracture opens in the skin on his side. Cherry-violet, almost like smoke, leaks from between entwined tendrils, the colour of his own soul speckling behind shrouded eyes as he fights to contain the essence of himself, wracked with pleasure, shallow breaths, he writhes, struggles-

_-and lets go._

It pours from him, into the abyssal void of Elidibus’ soul, the excess of himself overflowing as he feels like something inside him, his aether, his body, _he does not know where,_ is bursting and it is **_too much._ **

**_Don'tletgoDont'tletgoDon'tletgo_ **

The tendrils coiled around Elidibus’ arm and leg tightening until crystalline bones strain and start to splinter, any grip he can find as blinded by Dark and blooming light the strength he exerts breaks everything claws and tendrils touch. **_Yours, yours, yoursy͘o̷ųrsy̕͡o̧͠ư̧͟r͠s̢͢_ ** His voice distorts and breaks, turning instead into baleful cries of ecstasy that lance through his mate, holding on as he falls, tumbling out of control in freefall with the other.

And then the agonising, uncontrollable heights of ecstasy of their shared orgasm breaks after what feels like a millennia, leaving him dizzy, trembling and twitching under the heavy coating of lightless aether.

  
  


They are all suspended, for a few moments, in dark bliss. But then the moment, the eternity, passes.

Harsh breathing breaks through the blanket of shadow, the thick mass covering Hades steaming away into the surrounding curtain of shade - not all of it, those wicked claws remain covered, all arms and both legs weighted down still. Burning eyes watch both men and she can _hear_ both hearts beating, hammering away as they suck in greedy lungfuls of air. What a picture they make, her mates, Elidibus bent so far over that his brow almost touches Hades' torso, both of them shivering, trembling from both exertion and all that they have just felt.

The first to recover any sense of himself is Elidibus, willfully pulling back his shadows from his lover's face and head, thick tendril pulling slowly from his mouth, dripping black aether and ichor upon the other man's chest. **_Satisfaction_ ** at the state of the other man ripples through the Emissary, and a smile, genuine and free, slips onto his face. 

That is, until he spots the batch of orbs resting upon Hades' belly.

Fingers flick, and shadow coats the backs of pale hands and mortal fingers, sheathing them in darkness and extending into solidified claws. Those points sink into the tendril that he still holds, anchoring there, but the free hand plucks one of those spheres, coated in thick, fluid aether, from where it rests. Eyeless sight meets that fourfold gaze and, lips curling into a familiar smirk, Elidibus places the globule upon his tongue, lifting his chin so that Hades may see the way his throat bobs as he swallows, the way it moves down his throat and out of sight. 

There is quite the show made of it as the Champion looks on, Elidibus leaning down to _lap up_ another, humming deep in his chest, gaze never leaving his exhausted lover.

His mouth is busy, but he may still yet speak, **_Did you know you taste of fruit? Come, let me show you._ **

He makes to move but pauses, kissing the belly beneath him - full of his own clutch - and licking up another. This one he sets between teeth and, grinning that barely contained savagery of a smile, bites down until it _bursts,_ swallowing Hades' liquid aether - tongue darting out to smear it over his lips, uncaring of how it dribbles down his chin, his throat.

**_Delicious, but let me allow you to indulge as well._ **

Tongue darting out to sweep up yet another orb, Elidibus shifts to pull his softening length from within his lover, an unfortunate necessity for how much smaller his vessel remained. Heedless of how tendrils squeeze at his arm, his leg, he leans up to press a kiss to the monster's mouth. With his tongue he urges the filled sac across and into his lover's mouth, shadow claws dragging up that lilac skin to press the pads of his thumb against Hades' throat. Elidibus rubs, firmly, encouraging and forcing his lover to swallow just that much more, when he feels that throat bob, he pulls back into a truly fearsome grin.

The motion is repeated again and again, kissing abdominal skin, supping upon that violet aether, _feeding_ Hades' own aether to himself.

Then, motion, and _she_ presses into view.

"Surely you weren't planning on excluding me," a grin to match the Emissary's snakes its way onto her face, and is answered by a twin below shadowed brow.

"The thought did not occur, even for an instant," warmer than usual, almost _thawed_ is the tone.

She lounges comfortably against Hades' chest, giving him full view as Elidibus leans down to kiss and lick once more, again making a show as he leans to kiss the Warrior, mouths and tongues entwining openly so that Hades may watch as his own aether is passed to the Hero, _fed_ to her by the other Ascian. She swallows, throat working, and Elidibus passes her another, and another, only breaking their kiss to retrieve more from the clutch still resting below. The next is pierced with the needle sharp tip of black claws, and to retrieve it she lazily licks it off, smacking her lips with a filthy sound as it leaks from the corners.

"I must agree, dear, you are _delicious,_ " the sound is hoarse, not full of lust but satisfaction of a primal level. "But have you had enough? Surely now. Eat the rest, my dear monster, eat what you have made."

They move in tandem this time, each pressing a pliant globe into his fanged mouth until he swallows, until every last one is gone - feeding him with hands and mouths, feeding _each other_ with fingers and tongues. Even then, they lean down and, languidly, lick up what remains of the liquid release.

Finally, it is done, bellies _beyond_ full in a myriad of ways, she grabs hold of the smaller man and hauls him up to lay against the chest of the far larger monster with her. To bask in one another, to bask in the _three_ of them.

A shadowy blanket creeps forth, loose this time, just enough to cover them, to feel, the _weight_ of what had remained long gone, freeing Hades to move as he may. The room remains shrouded, blocking out all but the bed and them as they rest upon it - three monsters, all different, all bonded, all so very **_in love._ **

_Nothing will be the same, once more._

  
  


Even in a room shrouded by the densest of dark, when Hades opens his eyes, it is _too bright,_ overwhelming his senses as four white eyes open, the coating of lightless Dark receding, cold air filling his lungs as the tendril deep within pulls from his mouth, coated in sticky aether and saliva that smears across his lips and drips down his chin. He tries to speak but his throat is too coated, simultaneously too raw to permit his purring voice freedom. Even his voice in aether is hopelessly scrambled, incoherent, fuzzy, like a worn out record with grooves rubbed smooth.

̡͢ ̸̢ ̴̢͢ ̶͜͜ ̵͟ ͢ ̵̷̢ ̷̨ ̡̨ ̧̢͢ ͘͜͡ ͘͟͠ ̵̢͘ ͘҉̕҉̨ ̸̢͞

But despite this the feelings of **_relief, adoration, satiation_ ** ring true across the shared bonds, heavy taloned limbs slowly falling onto the bed, the ones in his chest slipping free and falling to his sides. The crack in his vessel is clear as the blanket of dark recedes, a jagged split that gleams with bright violet, but his essence no longer pours from it, balanced between himself and the Emissary. A gentle touch of shrouded fingers, and it seals over, unmarked dusky skin once more.

Hades’ gaze finds that of Elidibus’, as the smaller Ascian plucks a pliant, glossy sphere of aether from his body, a moment of fluster as he glances down at the weighty clutch that had been forced from him, settled on his taut, well-fed belly. Sticky, syrupy aether coats the sphere, cloying and easily slipping down the Emissary’s throat, a shivering breath rushing past Hades’ lips as he watches the other’s throat swell around the sphere. Unashamedly, leftover ichor and saliva runs from his mouth, drooling at the sight as Elidibus picks up another and _bursts_ it between his teeth, gilded talons tearing into sheets in a tremor, lips parted, the sight of the other Ascian grinning sending a burning chill down his spine, voice still scrambling **_\--̸̵ ̷̧͜ ͘҉ ͞ ̸͞ ͡͏ ̸̛͡ ̶͢͞—_ ** but the overwhelming **_attraction_ ** he feels clear as day.

It almost doesn’t register to him that Elidibus has withdrawn, moved, that his lips are upon his, so caught up in the sight of a toothsome grin, a swelling throat, smeared aether until the saccharine taste of his own aether fills his mouth. A sharp breath fills his nose, resisting — **_so full_ **— but the massage of a clawed thumb on his throat forces him to swallow, a soft groan escaping between lips.

**_El̢i̕͠͡d͟i.̵̵.̴̵̕.҉_ **

Just barely, the Emissary hears his name— his title, gasped in aether, softly pawing at his soul as another sac is urged down his throat, the shape of it bulging his throat out, pressing against the thumb on his throat, the fragile membrane rupturing, liquid pouring from it, the warmth of it soothing in the wake of the icy Dark that had been filling his body before. Before his Adam’s apple has a chance to settle, another is pressed into his mouth and he swallows without prompting, eagerly, shrouded gold talons sliding heavily against Elidibus skin in a caress as he revels - **_more, more, more_ ** \- in the honeyed sweetness of _himself_ presented so intimately.

The warmth of a summer day creeps across his soul, the smell of fresh leaves tickling his nose-

_She is there._

Elidibus stops to speak with her and all he can do is stare mutely, gazing at her with a spellbound expression. A sight his face must be, smeared in bitter black and oversweet violet, still panting softly between clutch-laden kisses as she slides into view, and he tries to speak, he tries to speak her name but it does not come, just the same radio static **_—͠҉͜҉_ ** **̸͘͡ ͞ ̶̴̢ ͟͡͝҉ ͞͏̧ ̸̢ ҉͟͜ ̸̢—** . The sound that _does_ come is a curious trill at the _warmth_ of Elidibus’ tone, unfamiliar, strange but so _pleasing_ to him. His mouth moves mutely, biting bottom lip as Elidibus presses his lips to hers, lips parted enough to make a show of passing her the glossy sac, and just as before he sees the shape of solid aether sink through her throat and out of view.

It stokes a fire of absolute primal _satisfaction_ in him, watching the other Ascian intimately feed her so, transfixed, almost bewitched by the sight as one mate feeds the other part of his essence, part of _everything that he is,_ binding the three in an act no mortal could replicate. His feelings of possessiveness for her melt at the sight of Elidibus doting on her so, instead his adoration for her spreading to _him._ Not here to take her, not here to make her love him any less but to simply adore and be adored in the same way she and he already do.

**_I͜ ͘͡l̡̕o̵̢̢v̕͏͠ę̛ y͏̷̸ou_ **

He means them both, as distorted as the words are, an exhausted, blissful, _loving_ smile curled on his face, four eyes blinking asynchronously in his fatigue. They turn, and before he can protest — **_too full, too full_ ** — her lips, laden with aether, are upon him, and even though his body strains, the skin of his belly tight and full of Elidibus’ lightless flesh and clutch, he swallows each globe as it is pressed into his mouth with fingers, tongues and lips, sucking fingers for every drop of viscid violet, tongue curling around digits and caressing palms and the webbing between fingers.

**_Mor̶̛e_** , he whispers, clearer, but quieter, tendrils squeezing, caressing both his mates as they feed him until he cannot, _cannot_ possibly consume more. Tipping his head back on the wall to pant, his belly aching with fullness, yet so satisfied, so _sated,_ the hunger that had panged his soul felt like all but a distant memory after this feast.

Soft laving of tongues caresses his aching waist, distended from consumption, from feeding, and he shivers, his consciousness starting to fade, darkening his vision as she and he settle against his chest. So _exhausted,_ but he purrs a low song for them both, his aether, combined and blended with Elidibus’ entwines with hers, pulling the mortal into a cthonic embrace.

Four limbs cradle his lovers, tentacles supporting, pillowy velour slipping between, around thighs to cushion jaws and heads, others to caress lovingly, eventually falling heavy and limp as he falls to slumber, and in soul, **he soars,** loved and **in love.**

**_Yours._ **

He means them both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do hope you saved room.


	4. Dessert

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sweetness at the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Go on, indulge.

Time passes in their cradle of shadows, the outside world continuing to turn without them, beyond their sight for how the Emissary covers the three of them, blanketed and swaddled and comfortable throughout the slumber to which even he falls prey.

Even so, when the barest hint of awareness begins to crest the horizon within Hades' mind, fingers start to work their way into mussed, silken hair. Soft and uncalloused, marking them as belonging to Elidibus as he strokes gently, carding his fingers through the strands. Blunt nails drag across scalp repeatedly, almost massaging in their repetitive motions.

Those hands pause for a moment, sending a soft tingle over the other Ascian's backside, cleansing him of the residue of their lovemaking, residual release and lubrication gone in an instant. There is a weight, resting along his lower body, one that moves surely down, down, small hands - rough, working hands, those of a warrior - lifting and spreading, allowing gentle, wet heat to bloom at his entrance.

This is what greets Hades upon awakening.

Elidibus curled into his side, once more much closer in size with Emet-Selch back to his mortal guise, and the hero between his legs and lower, lavishing him with the gentle, loving touch of lips and tongue.

  
  


Hades stirs, and the first thing to sear through his mind is not agonising hunger. He is not sure the last time it was not there, scraping its greedy claws at the back of his skull and hollowing him out until he could feel nothing but an impossible emptiness. No, the first thing he feels is the soft fingers of the Emissary threading through earthen tresses, the shock of white cascading across his shoulder. He melts into that touch, a slow sigh of bliss pushing free from his lips.

Swallowing once, residual sweetness coating his tongue and throat, he attempts to find his voice, words stolen in a soft exhalation as Elidibus’ nails drag against his scalp, barely even able to open his eyes as even rested so well he is  _ exhausted _ from the rigors of the past…

Hm, he cannot recall how long it is, and he cannot possibly find it in himself to care, blanketed by soothing darkness and with the warmth of his lovers, trying again to speak but now interrupted by the slow loving touch of lips and tongue between his legs, shuddering tiredly as his spine stiffens, weakly balling up bedding in his hands as the sound he makes is an Allagan exultation, lids fluttering open in the stygian-hued room. His eyes find Elidibus first, groggily smiling, lacing his fingers with the free hand of the Emissary, another soft gasp and moan as the Warrior’s tongue caresses clean but aching flesh. His gaze falls downwards and he  _ blushes _ at the sight of his lover doting on him with such intimacy.

“H-... Hero, I am...” he starts, voice hoarse. He is  _ spent, _ he wants to say. Nothing left to give, even if his vessel were otherwise capable. But as gentle fingers pull at his scalp, he lets out a meek sound, allowing his lovers to lavish him with attention. 

His body twitches lightly in response to the touches of the Hero and Elidibus, and the only words he speaks are the murmured, reverent adulations of an ancient polyglot.

  
  


The Champion continues her ministrations, taking Hades apart with long licks of her tongue, with mouthed declarations of soft lips, with probing touches. Her hands continue to hold him up, supporting the exhausted man so that she may press inwards to lap at every crevice - his soft length remains untouched, however.

She knows he is spent, but-

"Do we need to expect something to dote upon what is ours?" it is Elidibus who answers, busy as the Warrior is, and she gives a soft  _ 'hmn' _ of agreement. The threading of fingers through hair continues, steady, loving movements meant to convey the depth of his emotion. Of both of their affections, doting - for that is what it is, two beings showering their shared mate with all the affections they feel he deserves. She smiles as she works, never increasing the slow, languid pace she moves at, it was all merely for his enjoyment, after all, intimacy for intimacy's sake without the desire to chase after pleasure.

"You did well, Hades, so very well, we wanted to reward you in kind," lips brush his cheek, his temple, as Elidibus leans in to nose at the sensitive skin just behind his ear. The whispered words are warm, gentle, so very full of  **_love,_ ** "You make it no secret that we belong to you."

A soft chuckle from down below, causing his lips to pull up at the corners, shifting to brush the delicate skin at the shell of Hades' ear. Twin songs of bliss, of peace, chime amongst heavenly bodies, emanating even from the space between stars.

"But you forget that you belong to us as well, quite thoroughly."

  
  


Breaths are drawn short, barely able to take a full one before his lover’s tongue presses firm against his entrance, stealing the air from his lungs as he shivers the breath back out. Cheeks deep red, afire with a blush as he almost feels dizzy with the intimate affection bestowed on him.

“O-oh… oh, Hero, hero, hero,” he whispers as a prayer, his back arching and stiffening for the briefest of moments as her tongue pushes firmer, breath hitching, then let out in a pleasured sigh. It is such a plain, mortal pleasure that she lavishes upon him, and yet it makes his head spin in his waking daze, fingers squeezing the unmarked, soft digits of Elidibus’ hand. His words push soft sounds of almost-protest from Hades’ throat, turning his head so his lips alight wherever they may on the Emissary’s body, mortal in guise once more, like him. 

The song that his soul produces is orchestrated, the very melody of his heart played by expert touch and words of praise so that it dances between and with the notes of the other two, just as his body twists and arches in slow motion in response to the wet caresses of the Champion.

Words tremble on his tongue, showered with adoration as he is, but he must speak it. He  **_must._ ** Such reverent and sweet praises spill from their lips and yet he only speaks in stutters and gasps of languages, old and new.

Winter gold eyes turn as far as they can to catch the liquid silver locks of Elidibus’ hair, spilling across his neck and shoulder, Hades’ fingers moving to brush the other Ascian’s shoulder, where the ribbony ink-stain of his aether rests.

“I could not forget. N-never again,” he says in tremoring breaths. The events are crystal clear, from the moment he woke without the Warrior at his side in Il Mheg to now.

“There are no others I would rather belong to.”

  
  


She wants to dote on him, wants to show him in the physical all she feels in her deepest self, but when Hades' voice shakes, when he trips and stumbles over words with every shaking inhalation, she loses the fight with herself, ever impatient, ever  _ greedy. _ Leaning back, leaning up, she looks from between his still tense thighs and meets that gold gaze, unable to hold back a smile at the sight of her two lovers. 

Silvery white hair mingles with mahogany and they look so at  _ home, _ these two, these last remnants of their ancient home - together with her, the vestiges of memories and thoughts not from this life brushing the edges of her mind. This was good, this was  _ right, _ that they be seen together like this, pieces falling into place that she never knew were missing.

Or not missing, yet added all the same.

A tingling feeling washes over her mouth, her face, and she meets the almost impish smile of the Emissary before breaking out into bright laughter at his cleansing. She beams, climbing up, over the lanky body of the overwhelmed man between the two of them and settling herself onto his chest. Hair has fallen into his face, so she brushes it away, leaning in to steal a kiss from Elidibus before her attentions are more fully turned on Hades.

"He's right, you know, you're  _ ours _ now," it takes but a moment and she's kissing the third eye upon his forehead, reverently. "Always and eternally," her lips move against the hard protrusion before she draws back to press inwards, crowding close to them both.

Mortal she might be, but it's a promise, and it hangs in their sanctum with  _ weight, _ a gravity not tense but full of care, of love, of all that she is.

Elidibus looks on, looks up, and as she presses in, as he presses closer to them both in turn, something within him  _ shifts _ just slightly, clicking into  _ rightness. _ He says nothing as drops of  _ warmth _ bloom within him, isolated yet still there, and smiles.

_Love unyielding, unceasing, and_ **_theirs._**

  
  


A long, warm breath of relief escapes Hades’ lips as the Hero ceases her loving, intimate caresses, the love in his exhalation cascading across Elidibus’ shoulder. Memories from a time so far away rise to the surface, sly glances, a softened word amongst so many plainly spoken. The blissful smile on Hades’ face pulls more, a show of teeth still just  _ barely _ sharper than a Garlean’s in his grin. The song trills in amusement, dancing across the other man’s heart, and Hades’ fingers trace across the lightless black mark upon his chest with fond reverence.

“Even then?”

As she crawls back between them, his hand falls to rest across her, fingers stroking across the scarred skin of a warrior, of  _ his _ Warrior, tracing the marks but with no thoughts in his head to make of them, simply another part of her, another feature of the woman he loves so very dearly. She fits between them, and he cannot help tuck against her, a low rumble in his chest, broken into a soft ‘Ah!’ as her lips press upon the pearl-like protrusion in his forehead bringing that strange fuzzing to that additional mortal sense, leaning into it almost greedily so she may lavish more attention upon it.

“Yours,” he echoes in soft agreement.

Hades allows the moments to pass, at least for a while longer, fingers squeezing Elidibus’ hand occasionally, his other hand tracing lazy patterns upon the Champion’s skin, leaving a light tingle of sweet aether in their wake, enough to just barely stain her skin for the briefest of moments, before the touch trails over the violet hued scarring. Then, a deep breath enters his chest.

“I am sure both of you would be overly content to lay here for the next  _ eon _ but I quite find myself craving, nay,  _ needing _ to bathe.” As if to accent this he wipes some of the half-dried, starry blood off of his side, where his claws had sunk into his own flesh in his ardor. “And… I would quite like to share that.”

His lips curl into a confident smirk, and he raises the touch from the Hero to produce a clear  **snap.** Behind its closed door, the aether of the bathing room shifts, alters, arcane geometries altering it to  _ perfection. _

  
  


Joyous laughter rings about the room, the Hero's mirth enough to shake her body, and after teasing words - but sweet, oh he could be sweet when he wished - she steals a kiss from those smirking lips. In the depths of her the desire to nest, to  _ groom, _ rises with redoubled strength. That desire to dote upon Hades had not faded, so it appeared she would be doing so within warm waters.

There is a pause, a thought flashing through to the two men.  _ Claws washing her clean, that first time, as she is held, spent and content, in monstrous arms. _ And she smiles softly, fondly.

A second string of levity rumbles across from the Emissary, eyes bright with amusement. "Ever the Architect, even now," the words musical with  _ teasing _ but gentle with affection. "Though I find that I wish to share this as well, with both of you." Earlier words are turned over, and from the dark depths come the flash of ancient words, an obscured look, a hidden smile.

**_Even then._ **

She moves first, giving up the warmth and comfort but not without a sigh of regret, easing herself off the edge of the bed. An appraising eye takes stock of the damage, and with a fierce grin she leans in to gather up the tallest of them in experienced arms, hefting Emet-Selch up and away from their other mate. As she does, the darkness around them thins, slowly dissipating, retracting to withdraw into the one who had formed it in the first place. Elidibus stretches upon the bed as he recalls his aether, slowly moving to stand next to the Champion. There is a rolling motion in his depths, one that the other two may see - connected as they now are - and a bubble of  _ love _ seeps to the surface.

Before the Warrior begins to walk, he presses a brief kiss to her forehead, and then to the taller man held securely in her arms. Warmth blooms, her happiness running as hot as she does, and she makes her way into the altered bathing chambers.

  
  


Lips pull into greater smiles, self-assured and teasing as his fingers tease across her form, a firm rub of her lower belly across healing scar and aether-laden flesh. Despite his desire to soak in the warmth of water he lets out a soft whine as she leaves the embrace of he and Elidibus, his fingers dragging on her for as long as possible until he catches the look in her eyes, the feeling of  _ surprise, alarm,  _ **_glee_ ** pressing against her. But, he does not fight as she hauls him into her arms, kissing the underside of her jaw, arm lazily wrapped around her back.

“This is very undignified for an Emperor, hero.”

The other hand reaches back to the bed, grasping Elidibus’ fingers to gently tug him along with Hades and the Warrior. “My apologies Emissary but you weren’t to have a choice in this matter anyway,” he teases, a flash of teeth as he gazes at the other man. It doesn’t last for long as the cadence of his native tongue ripples across his soul, stunned into silence, his gaze looking to the side as heat blooms on his cheeks. He had been jesting; mostly jesting. He had not been expecting an answer so plain and so honest that he lets out a sound of surprise when Elidibus’ lips alight on his forehead, making his eyelids flutter as that additional sense is consumed by the presence of the other Ascian. 

In that moment every sense he has is consumed by the two of them, returned to the now by the movement of the Warrior carrying him with strong, well-weathered arms, a gesture of fingers pushing the door open, revealing a wooden spa with steps leading up, filled and refilled with an ever-present stream of perfectly-heated water. Plush towels hang from a heated rack, and bottles - exotic ones, ones the Warrior has never seen before but are all too familiar to the Architect and Emissary, recreations of soft liquid soaps and oils that every Amaurotine was fond of, scented richly, of spice and smoke and sweetness. He could still Create, and while he could, he would bid to bring ancient creature comforts to himself and his lovers.

Hades sighs with a soothed bliss at the sight, a song turned into a slow hum of  _ serenity _ as warm steam settles on his skin. “I do hope this is to your liking, my loves. I  _ do _ try, if only sometimes.”

  
  


"Yet you curl as happily in my arms as an oversized cat would," she quips, carefully making her way into the center of the room. 

Elidibus is close behind, closing the door behind them and looking out at what Emet-Selch had made for them. What little stoic mask had crept onto the Emissary's face - born of millennia of old habits - melts away in an instant as his gaze alights upon the past made present. There is an audible catch to his breath at the sight, and like a pale ghost he drifts over to the shelf containing them. A pulse resonates from the chest of both Warrior and Emet-Selch, a snarl of emotions knotting tight within the Ascian as he reaches out to run tentative fingers over the glass neck of the bottle nearest to him, as if in a dream.

That pulse twists, though not uncomfortably, as Elidibus visibly calms himself with a shaking inhale, "You give more effort than you would allow others to believe." Shadows coalesce, creeping across the window and door, shading, shielding the occupants once more from any who might attempt to disturb them.

A nest they would have, this cocoon of darkness a gift, a casual touch of power loosed from the wall of force within Elidibus.

Not just sensing but feeling the depth of emotion, the Warrior huffs a soft breath, deciding that they all need a dose of levity. She strides towards the pool of water and, taking a moment to gauge its depth, jumps right in. Water splashes around them, and she is sure to fully submerge Emet-Selch beneath the water for the briefest of moments. Ignoring the inevitably sputtering and indignation, she pulls him closer to her chest and quickly slides down into the water, convenient benches within the pool the perfect height.

Water neck-deep, she settles Emet-Selch across her lap, holding him tightly despite his ire, "And you react as poorly to being dunked in water just as a cat might!"

One hand holds him securely, head tucked in the crook of her neck and shoulder, and the other comes up to bury into long brown locks. Fingernails digging in just slightly, she strokes through his hair with her fingers, combing through. Again and again she repeats the motion, digits coming upon tangles and carefully pulling them apart as she may. The beast inside of her rises, protectively, the desire to clean and wash her mate pressing to the fore. It's not lost upon her, the change in their usual positions, and she willfully projects the swell of happiness in her soul. 

She shifts so that his weight freely keeps him upon her torso, but as she does his hips press inwards on her lower belly, shifting the aether held intimately within. A purring growl creeps from her chest, her throat, vibrating through the waters, and the hand which previously held him to her slips down to caress at his belly, his abdomen. The feel of the solid aether within him as she presses, slightly, causing it to move with her strokes, brings a sense of  **_satisfaction_ ** to her. She understands, now, how he felt after that very first time.

Water ripples only slightly as Elidibus slips into the water, still full of emotion, and he slides over to sit against the Champion, Emet-Selch's head resting between them. One hand lifts to join hers to comb through those newly long locks, grooming and pampering the taller man, while the other slips across to interlace his fingers with hers. 

"There are few places I would prefer to be, at this moment," it is a confession, emotions shown more in the past few days than in many years, and Elidibus curls close.

She leans her head closer to Elidibus, her presence seeming to grow inexplicably larger, reaching around to cradle the two men. She does not speak with words, instead whispering across their souls, the scent of green leaves and warm summers coiling throughout the room.

_ Rest, both of you. Take this time, for once. _

**_I am here._ **

  
  


“Only as much effort as I deign to expend,” Emet-Selch teases, a soft brush of his fingers on Elidibus’ arm as he steps over to the shelves. A tease, yes, but he knows what he has offered the other man; a piece of home, if only for now. Bottles angular, bottles curved, bottles in hues of smoky greys, greens and blues; each one opened for a different delight to the senses, scents of home recreated in shocking clarity despite how very many centuries- millennia it has been since they resided within a city fairly gleaming. How cemented and chiseled those memories must be for the Architect to be able to bring them back with little more than brief consideration.

The darkness reaching across the window and door reveals the pale yellow glimmers of light embedded within the walls, giving just enough illumination that each may gaze upon the other. A gentle rub of his thumb to the Emissary’s hand as he calms himself, soon stretching to keep the hold until the Warrior is too far, fingertips brushing the back of his palm as she steps up to the steaming bath.

Realisation sets in far too late as he feels himself drop, writhing in her arms as he is submerged for just a moment, surfacing with a gasp and a  _ snarl, _ fighting her strong grip as she braces him against her, almost looking as if he could change, to bite and-

_ Oh. _

Emet-Selch’s eyelids flutter as her fingers drag through his locks, scraping against his scalp in a way that makes the back of his head buzz pleasantly, spreading down his spine. He is stilled almost  _ instantly, _ settling his head on her shoulder and the toothsome snarl fading to a soft purr, lips softly mouthing at her neck in faint whispered cusses of Garlean. Soft tangles unfurl in the water, auburn and white curling in the depths like wisps of smoke, slicked to his face until combed back by her fingers.

”This is no way to treat an Emperor. Most undignified. You should be-”

His breath catches in his throat as both the joy of her soul settles around his, and her free hand falls to gently smooth across his waist, skin still taut and heavy with the aether of Elidibus and himself. He can’t help but let out a low groan as she presses firmer, causing a shift in the clutches so intimately held within, mouthing more cusses in a different language, one she is not familiar with this time. It is betrayed, though, by the absolute overwhelming  **_bliss_ ** he feels as her fingers stroke over his skin, a gasp as the touch is soon joined.

Doted on again by both of his lovers, a moment in which however he may vocally claim that both of them are  _ his, _ however he may bluster and boast of how it is such… here, dimly lit, surrounded by the sights and scents of a home so long gone yet  _ alive, here, right now, _ it is clear that he is  _ theirs. _ His soft grousing gives way to content, pleased sounds as two hands comb through long, thick locks, broken only by soft gasps as the touches on his belly cause shifts of solid aether, his whole body, even his soul quivering in response.

Emet-Selch tips his head back, back, far enough that his lips brush the chin of the Emissary, a gentle kiss with a soft ‘hmmmh’ of happiness, but also a known impish tone. Whatever thing may amuse him is gone with another scrape of nails on scalp, spots of white blooming in his eyes as lids slide shut, allowing them to dote with no more complaints, no more struggling. 

**_”I love you,”_ ** he murmurs in ancient tongue, plain but in soul laden with an abundance of feeling that even in that connection could not hope to be translated in its depth.  _ Gratitude. Adoration. Relief. Bliss. Want. Contentment. _

The list goes on. And on. And on. Until its very end where it trails into a song, all words in all languages of both tongue and soul lost until only the melody of his love can express what he feels. Somehow, still, it is not enough.

Red and violet aether twines and knits in with blue and abyss, pulling the three together, closer, closer,  _ closer, _ as  _ close as they can be _ in soul without losing themselves to each other.  _ She is here. He is hers. They are both hers. _

**_He loves her._ **

  
  


Soft sounds fill the room, the music of their lives, their souls, underlying the trickle of water as it flows, as four hands work over Garlean flesh. Soon, the bulk of soil is gone - blood, release, sweat - all washed away and taken with the gentle current, it would not do to soak in filthy water, after all. 

Elidibus removes his hands from the Hero's, leaving lingering touches against both her skin and that of Emet-Selch, pulling away only to reach for two bottles upon the rack. Chosen seemingly at random, his intent is revealed when the first is opened - a shampoo - and the smoky scent of birch with the bold smells of sandalwood and leather permeate the air. Perfect complements to the notes and taste of the Architect's soul. The substance is liquid silk as the Emissary pours it into his hands, burying them into the long hair of his longtime friend and slowly working into a lather. The result is thick, tingling slightly, and it is with a deep inhale and a happy sigh that Elidibus continues his care.

"If my memory serves, this particular choice has ever been your favorite," said low in that smooth voice.

Upon inspection of the other bottle, the Champion brightens upon opening to reveal the same scent, this time with the ever faint hint of green leaves and summer skies - the barest touch of  _ her _ to go with  _ him. _ A soap, this time, to be used liberally upon the body.

Use it she does.

Something tickles in the back of her mind, and she takes a small touch of the liquid, chasing that instinct. She lifts a single arm of his out of the water and begins to pamper Emet-Selch with both hands, not only rubbing the perfumed cleanser into his skin to foam and clean, but almost rhythmically increasing and releasing pressure as her fingers glide over his skin. A massage, meticulously performed, each finger, every expanse of wet skin is tended to, muscles beneath worked and soothed. When she finishes with one arm, she moves to the next, then to his torso, and down to each leg, soap retaining clarity even when she submerges clever fingers. 

It's a ritual. Ancient and practiced, and though she has no memory she performs it flawlessly regardless. Once or twice, she sets the container aside and reaches for a new one, selecting the same scent without looking, different mixtures for different areas. She is correct, each time, even with the gentlest of them, reaching to soothe the flaccid flesh at his groin, traveling beneath, behind, cleaning each ilm of him with gentle touches. The motions are almost hypnotic in their steadiness, in how sure she is without truly knowing.

But she needn't understand that to feel  **_love._ **

Arching brows, that regal face, all are washed and tended to by Elidibus while the Warrior sees to the rest of their third. Gently he drips water to rinse what clings, leaving Emet-Selch fresh-faced, skin warm and renewed. Those length locks, too, are relieved of shampoo, the wet curls shining, practically aglow with health. A final step remains, and it is thick conditioning cream that the Emissary chooses last.

This one has the scent of bittersweet chocolate, of tea - Elidibus would blend notes of his own to finish the symphony of aroma. He slicks white and brown with the potion, liberally coating what he may with fingers alone. He is not finished, however.

Ripples form in air, as Emissary chooses to  _ create _ as well, producing a fine comb. It appears to almost be constructed of horn,  _ very _ ornate, a relic from a star once whole. Gently, he begins to drag it through Emet-Selch's hair, seeking to coat every last strand, to remove any remaining tangles.

_ Love blooms further between they three, there in the dark. _

  
  


It was his favourite. It  _ is _ his favourite. Almost impossible to find on any continent of any shard, he would rarely,  _ ever so rarely, just as now, _ create it, just for himself.  _ It is his favourite and Elidibus knows that it is. _ He tries not to focus on that, swallowing audibly as his vessel reacts, trying to settle it down. Just a slow, simple nod; trying to focus on the feel of firm, gentle fingers rubbing at his scalp, and dextrous ones coating his body in soap.

He matches the slow, long breath of Elidibus, fully relaxing against the two. There’s almost a sly comment about his imperial status that buzzes through his soul, but it’s not forthcoming in voice.

He closes his eyes, and for as long as this moment lasts, he is  _ home. _

The only sounds to escape Emet-Selch’s lips as she and he cleanse his exhausted, weary vessel are soft, happy sighs, the occasional murmur of delight, a blissful and content smile curled onto his lips, a slow song of aether curling around them both, a background comfort rather than the main focus but oh how he cannot help it. He is home. This is  _ home. _

Gentle soaps roam his body, a shiver as the Warrior’s fingers clean intimately, lips parting but no sound. How rare indeed for Emet-Selch to not respond as he is wont to do, for that is the level of exhaustion he feels not just in his vessel - that is a thing easily remedied, as adept at flesh-shaping as he is - but in his very  _ soul. _

But he is satiated, fully and thoroughly and this fills him not to quell agonising hunger, but with sweetness and richness.

When he feels a comb run through his hair, mingled woods and leather with tea and cocoa, it feels so familiar. Familiar enough that he opens his eyes to catch the appearance of it with each stroke through his long, wavy locks. Pale, creamy coloured horn, carved with filigree edges, its tines widely spaced enough for long hair, and gold inlaid into its top ridge.

It’s his. It’s his comb.

Emet-Selch does not speak on what he sees, quite stunned, a long single note drawn out as he gazes at it. Elidibus made this. He recreated it in  _ perfect _ detail - right down to the chipped tine at the edge.

**_Even then._ **

Though his face is cleaned and gently dried, he finds it becomes wet again as tears break free from his eyes, trickling down his face in absolute silence. He mourns Amaurot for brief moments, knowing he would not gaze upon its glittering opal lights if he were to look out the window. But he has Elidibus, and he has the Warrior, and while she is not whole, she remembers more than she realises; she is enough for him.

Perhaps even too much.

Still weeping, his tears change from mourning to happiness, and the smile returns, closing his eyes and allowing the two to finish their ritual, exerting some of his exhausted power to allow tendrils to loosely wrap around the waists of both with a slow, adoring squeeze.

_ He is home. And he feels  _ **_alive._ **

  
  


They give Emet-Selch what time he needs, speaking no words in response to tears that slip from lamenting golden eyes. Elidibus knows first hand, though he rarely shows what he feels on the loss of their home, his duty always comes first. The Warrior, too, holds her tongue, instead forwarding the cleansing until all soap has been rinsed away. She may not remember, may not  _ know, _ but she knows  _ him, _ and that is all she needs.

The comb finishes, each hair coated and rinsed, and Elidibus sets it aside. 

When grief slowly undergoes metamorphosis, joy returning once more accompanied by the velvet touch of additional limbs, only then do Elidibus and the Champion react. They lean, in tandem, covering Emet-Selch and bundling his lanky body close. Soft lips brush each cheek as they work together, kissing away the wetness that remains, blanketing Emet-Selch with  **_love_ ** until at last his eyes are dry.

They remain that way for a time, leaning together, basking in the shared veil of their song.

  
  


The sounds of water, suds on skin and comb gliding through hair are the only things that fill Emet-Selch’s ears for some time as he weeps. It is when he feels bodies drawing close, bookending him, wrapping him snugly that his eyes open, even only a little. Lips alight again and again upon his cheeks and jaw, kissing away his tears until both rest against him.

He cannot quite describe or quantify the feeling he has, cleansed, submerged in warmth, held close by the person he has loved dearly across time and space, and the one he  _ did not realise _ he felt the same for. His head turns first to the Hero, catching her lips in a soft, sweet kiss, fingers stroking her cheek.

“I love you.”

The ridge of his third eye presses lightly against her forehead for a few moments, and then he turns, the same soft sweetness of a kiss pressing to Elidibus’ lips. Long fingers twine and curl with white hair that spills like ink across his digits. The same gentle press of his forehead to the other’s, both unmasked, bare to each other physically and aetherically now.

“I love you.”

Golden gaze tips up, and his lips quirk, looking at the Emissary’s hair, flecks of starry blood staining its silver hue, brows mildly raising as he looks upon its slightly disheveled state. “Well, this won’t do at all. Look at the state of you,” he teases with a smile, though the levity of it is forced, trying to push the weight of such dense emotions to the side for now; to let him enjoy this time with his lovers. He slides out of the combined grip of Warrior and Emissary, slipping round to gently pull Elidibus’ back against his chest. Emet-Selch rests his chin on one of his shoulders, letting out a slow sound of contentment, kissing softly where not hours ago, teeth had torn and ripped and shattered glassy bones.

Not wishing to move more than at all needed, it is instead dextrous velour tendrils that pick up ornate bottles, opening one to the scent of sweet fruit. Emet-Selch presses his nose to Elidibus’ shoulder in contemplation, and then nods to himself. He kisses the other man’s neck softly, fingers sliding up from their embrace to untie silver hair and let it fall, cupping water to soak through silken strands.

A moment passes, and fingers return, coated in shampoo that smells like summer fruits, of cherries, strawberries, raspberries, and more. “I think you will find this to your liking, my love,” he states quite assuredly, massaging it in and allowing white foam to bloom. Firm fingertips rub and slide across the Emissary’s scalp, then draw the suds back across the rest of his hair.

Falling quiet, he revels in such a simple act of intimacy, to wash his mate, leaving a scent so very, very close to that of his own soul, something of Emet-Selch left upon Elidibus besides the aether weighing heavy within.

  
  


She is watching a marvel unfold directly in front of her eyes, the foundations of an ancient being - of a man, at the end of everything he was still just a  _ man _ \- crumble at something so simple, the delicate aroma of berries laying Elidibus low. At first she does not act, watching with a fond smile as Emet-Selch arranges them, leaning against his side as he begins to work the lather through white hair.

The intent is clear, for she desires it as well.

_ Smell as I do, be marked with this, the very touch of my soul. _

A deft touch runs along what she may reach of the tendrils that remain, loving, just enough to brush against her other lover as the focus turns entirely to Elidibus. He is quiet, now, in body and soul, the song muted as breath hitches on every inhalation. But the bond cannot bring deception, and she divines the reason.

Even the indulgences he had taken today could, in a way, be seen as furthering their shadowy goals. Bonding with her, forming an accord, allies rather than adversaries to rebalance the scales, keeping his fellow hale and bolstering his spirit. Each could be waved away, excused, seen as another duty to be done despite how he enjoyed it,  _ wished _ for it.

But this?

It only serves  _ himself. _ And from the tremble beneath a sea of night she knows that the Emissary  _ feels, _ emotions too large to express, perhaps, but feel them he does. The boneless way Elidibus sags in Emet-Selch's hold, the tiniest strained sounds escaping with each exhale, the shake of himself where he settles among them, within.

Action now, as she has always lived, moving from the men to make a choice herself from the numerous bottles of soaps present. After testing each one, she selects a relatively plain soap, but when she squeezes the substance into her palm another deliberately chosen scent fills the air - of moss, faint petrichor and cut grass, as close a match to her own soul that she could come to. The ritual begins anew, this time with Elidibus the subject, as she begins to wash his body while Emet-Selch combs fingers through long hair.

He would grow used to them, in time, but for now her presence coils around the two men once more.

**_Ours._ **

He trembles, overwhelmed with  _ love. _

  
  


Emet-Selch feels the tremor of Elidibus against him, the way his song becomes muted, fluttering as his fingers work into scalp and cleanse tarry, abyssal blood from his hair. He allows the other Ascian to accustom to this slow affection, cupping water and pouring it over his hair, fingers combing through to rinse suds from his hair, revealing the sheen of the Emissary’s hair.

Pale gold eyes lift from his gentle, reverent gaze to Elidibus, finding that of hers and offering her an almost  _ serene _ smile, a tendril rising to stroke and cradle her jaw; she has not slipped his mind, not even for a second as his melody trills, looking at her with unhindered adoration.

Another container, twisted open, a light cream spread between fingers and palms and gently combed through the Ascian’s hair, worked through every strand. A stray thought unchecked, and his fingers take a lock of silken hair, slick with conditioner, curling and twisting it around his finger as he admires the way the light makes it glimmer, and for a few moments he is transfixed in admiration of pale hair. His hands methodically, slowly clear his locks once more, hooking fingers around once clear and sweeping it over his shoulder.

Emet-Selch closes in, a soft embrace as he allows the Hero to do her part, bracing the sagging, almost imperceptibly trembling figure of Elidibus in a comforting hold. He is permitted this. Not just permitted but is  _ freely given _ this, by those who love him regardless of conditions of duty or role in eons-long schemes.

Within, a monster curls around another, soothing a trembling song alongside a trembling body.

Fingers trail across the shawl of aether-scarring around the Emissary’s shoulders, his touch a delicate spark when it touches quicksilver and blue, and a pleasant hum when it drags across starry violet.

A mark more than a simple accord.

More than duty.

It never was, after all,  _ just business. _

**_Even then._ **

  
  


Croons pull unbidden from Elidibus' lips as Emet-Selch traces scarred flesh, each brush sending ripples in a still pond, sparks snapping deep within a shadowy figure cradled by a monster. The dark is subdued, but as he is buoyed by a shining mortal, by a mighty beast, it - he - once more begins to seep outwards. The stygian shroud rises once again, and a deep pulse of warming affection emanates from the Emissary as he finds his center, the trembling ceasing as he settles into place as if he were never disturbed.

**_Acceptance._ **

His host is limp in Emet-Selch's hold as the Hero completes her ritual. His body is relaxed, cleansed, and she smiles at the visible result of her work. Water sloshes as she shifts, settling in next to the two men and relaxing for a few moments in the grasp of the heated water. The swell of her belly, full of them  _ both _ intimately, causes the skin which bears that still-new brand to press outwards. Her hand cups it, just barely, fingers tracing the edges of her lover's seal.

Her faint touch sends shots of electricity screaming into the core of Emet-Selch, as relaxed as they are, as  _ mingled _ as they are, any interaction with such a connection is amplified a hundredfold. A soft, happy sigh, coupled with a small smile, and she looks to reach for soap of her own, not wishing to disturb the bonding of the two Ascians. She would have plenty of time with Elidibus, she was sure, and already had time with Emet-Selch of her own in this way.

Selfless as the reasoning may be, when she makes to pull away even the slightest bit, she is halted in place by soft hands stroking her chest. Elidibus is gazing at her, almost sleepily, and as their eyes meet he trails his fingers down to stroke, firmly, against her brand. 

_ Do not think your turn does not come, Champion. _

The touch of a third steals the breath from her lungs, punching it out in a gasp and forcing her entire body to shudder  _ hard. _ Had any of them been able to, it would have sparked arousal in a mere instant. For now, it stops her where she sits, freezing her motions as fingertips delicately swirl upon her skin. If her touch had been jolts of lightning, Elidibus' was almost white hot to the center of them  _ both, _ Warrior and Emet-Selch, and cold enough it  _ burned _ deeply, yet painlessly.

_ Let us tend to you, as well. _

  
  


Emet-Selch looks  _ pleased _ with his work, with how Elidibus slumps against him fully, his trembling lightless soul stilling into calmness as he finally accepts the gift, the  _ indulgence _ laid upon him by his lovers. It is not a smug look on his face but a genuine look of peaceful satisfaction. He tucks his head in against the Emissary’s neck and closes his eyes, sighing out a slow, peaceful sound as his fingers lazily slip around the heavy curve of the other man’s waist.

The peace does not last as his eyes snap open to the touch of the Warrior’s fingers tracing over his brand, a little tremor in his body, only enough to be felt by Elidibus as her fingers play over its surface, driving a sharp ecstatic jab deep into him, past his vessel’s flesh and into his indelible essence. There’s no strength of power or will to manifest anything beyond the two gentle tendrils caressing between his two lovers but it is not for a lack of desire as the very depths of his body ache with her touch spearing down, down, down past flesh and bone.

His gaze slides over to her as if to query what she is doing, and then he sees the long fingers of Elidibus sliding down her body. There is alarm in his eyes as fire and ice begin to creep in as the pads of Elidibus’ fingers brush against the brand, taking a breath to ward the other off touching it-

His vision spins, and then goes dark.

It’s no more than a couple of seconds before he comes back around, though to him it feels much longer. A muffled sound comes from his mouth, and his fingers press hard against the Emissary’s stomach, nails pressing red crescents into his flesh, shifting semisolid aether within the other man’s body. His eyes open, vision still shaky, realizing his teeth have found purchase upon Elidibus’ shoulder once more, teeth sharp, but not so sharp as to break skin. His breath is short and shaky and it takes him full moments to calm down from the touch. Emet-Selch’s body aches, it is spent beyond that of not just mortal capacity but his own, but it does not stop how a single strand of  **_want_ ** rises from their lake of aether.

Lips kiss softly at the reddened mark his teeth left, likely on its way to blooming to a bruise. He looks back to the hero and offers a lopsided smile, a tendril coiling around her to pull her snug to his side.

“My dear, must you always be so impatient? Rush, rush, rush, all action, always action. We have all the time we could want right now, my love. Enjoy this peace, I will dote on you too; I would not want to miss the chance for anything.” He leans to her, a soft kiss upon her forehead before his attention is diverted back to Elidibus.

Emet-Selch gathers the almost fluid silver hair with one hand, and then with both, splits it into three sections with a practiced ease. Then with a similar, just as expert motion, he begins to loosely plait the three sections. It is not a high plait, nor even one that reaches his scalp. Simply the lower half of his hair. Not a single strand errs out of place, making it  _ almost _ uncanny in its perfection.

He calls the Hero’s name, looking back over to her, “-one of those ribbons you sometimes use. May I?” He holds Elidibus’ hair gently in one hand, and the other gestures to the stand next to the bath. While it was indeed changed, he had ensured none of his lover’s belongings would go completely missing in his spontaneous remodeling. He holds his hand out, fingers wiggling expectantly for the ribbon to finish ornamenting the Emissary’s hair as he waits.

**_Forgive me this indulgence, my love,_ ** he teases Elidibus, leaning so the other man may see the way Emet-Selch smiles, his lip catching on a tooth as it breaks into a half-grin.

  
  


A deep chuckle vibrates through Elidibus' chest at the reaction of both Warrior as well as Emet-Selch, that his colleague lost his grasp on consciousness for even the barest of moments is a detail the Emissary will not soon forget. Despite being breathless, the Champion looks up and catches those amused eyes. With twin thoughtful looks, they nod. This absolutely is something to pick back up at a later time. Would that they might see how far this new reaction may go, perhaps even-

Any musings are cut short by a strangled sound of surprise, torn from his mouth as sharp teeth sink into Elidibus' shoulder, the sound Emet-Selch makes as he comes again into awareness is nothing short of a  _ whine. _ Breath hitches, and Elidibus squirms in his lover's hold when hands flex to manipulate the aether within him. A low keening, almost inaudible, creeps from parted lips as one of those filled sacs  **bursts** deep within. Had he more energy the lust that would result from such an act would be so thick to almost  _ taste. _

But they are all of them spent, exhausted still despite how they tend to one another.

Emet-Selch feels the same as he, the three of them communicating easily through their bonds with such close proximity to one another - the  **_want_ ** but the inability to act upon it. For now. Instead, she curls against the tall Garlean form when he tugs her to him, making an exaggerated face at his teasing.

"Yes, of course, Emet-Selch, when next it becomes time for either of us to act, it shall be you who does so while  _ I _ rest in the shade," the words hold only fondness, the edge of mockery lilting about her tone. "But this time, yes, I'll be patient," she practically  _ purrs, _ beast within uncoiling to bask in the thought of nesting with her mates. To be taken care of, as she has taken care of them - again, perhaps, but it was a thing that would never grow tiresome, to her.

Her eyes close in a sigh when Emet-Selch kisses her, and she watches as what remains of Elidibus' composure melts entirely away when those long fingers bury themselves in that white, silky hair. She laughs as the Emissary dissolves into soft hums, almost purring himself while his hair is tended to. Soft melody hovers over their aetherial sea, a blending of temperatures evenly dispersed, settling into pure  _ comfort. _

The use of her  _ name, _ however, brings a shining smile to her face. It is always a rarity to hear, Emet-Selch preferring pet names or titles over her given name, and when she reaches for the ribbons on the stand she pauses. Thoughtful scrutiny is taken, eyes roaming the few ribbons she occasionally would adorn herself with, before a thought strikes her.

When she turns back, she holds three different lengths of the satiny material. One a flat black, one violet edged in deep red, and the last of a bright blue color etched with silver. Her features go soft, taking an extra moment to twist the three together into one, before handing it over to the Ascian's impatient fingers. Her emotion surges within as she witnesses his smile - that true, genuine  _ smile _ for Elidibus, and once more her heart, her  _ presence, _ swells around them.

**_There is nothing to forgive, not when I desire it so,_ ** whispered by his smooth voice, not hesitant but quieted all the same.

Dawn breaks in their cocoon of shadows, with she at the heart. But the light does not irritate, does not glare. It is soft, it is  _ warm, _ and just as she surrounds them, so does it, darting in amongst shadowy tendrils, sparks of violet and blue dance, suspended, in the sunbeams.

Ancient words spill from her unbidden,  **Together we shall find peace.**

The world doesn't end, no god leaps to contradict her. There is only them, they three, together.

_ Harmony. _

  
  


He’s so exhausted and yet, as he hears the sound of Elidibus’ surprise, feels the way his lover squirms against him in his grip until one of the heavy sacs of aether  _ bursts _ within him, he cannot suppress the low, monstrous growl that rumbles up from his chest. He has not the strength for his vessel to change, but all the same, beneath that pallid skin, he is and will always be  _ a monster. _

Her presence is a lightness on his body. Chains of a slumbering god pressed free of his chest, and as she teases him, his brows raise, a thought unbidden coming to his mind, one he is sure he would not usually be able to express, “Hold me to that, won’t you? Let me fight a few of your fights, some day.” He looks to her with a smile that is not fully definable in its expression, a gentle entreaty. “But for now, wait a little longer, my dear monster.”

A turn that would soon come, as she places the entwined ribbon into Emet-Selch’s hand, the Ascian taking a moment to look at its appearance, a pleased sound as he realises the hues so deftly twisted, spun together as she does within their aetherial lake. Fingers gently wrap the ribbon once, twice around the end of the neat plait, before tying it into a small and neat bow with dextrous fingertips. As he tugs it once, twice, he feels burst aether within the Emissary sink into flesh and bone, and it draws his body into a soft shudder. Letting the tied plait go, his lips fall upon Elidibus’ shoulder, a slow trail as he feels fragments of his own aether infused within his skin, kissing up to his neck where his lips still, only mouthing softly to graze teeth. He would tease a little more, tender touches to draw more soft noises from the other, as if a reprisal for being so bold as to touch  _ his _ brand on  _ his _ mate.

**Their** mate.

“It is nice to hear you sing so sweetly for me. I never considered you capable of such  _ delicious _ sounds, Elidibus,” he says with a teasing purr, slowing in his affections to hold him a moment longer. Just a few moments longer. A few more.

The warmth of a sun breaks through in their souls, centred between dusk and darkest night, lightless and violet curls of smoke subliming in its dewy rays. Emet-Selch had all but forgotten the  _ warmth _ that light could offer, that it was a thing that they all, once, spent their waking hours basking in the beauty of, just as much as some would bask in the cool jewel-strewn blanket of night.

Emet-Selch tips Elidibus’ jaw, giving him a slow, languid kiss upon his lips before finally releasing him to instead gently urge the Warrior between them. “You have waited your turn duly, and now it is time for us to dote upon  _ you, _ my love. My radiant little star,” the term should sound sarcastic but it is only spoken with the sweetest of affection, as while his hands roam and cup water into her hair to wet it, tendrils pick up three bottles sight unseen.

Two are handed to Elidibus, a small nod of the head towards her hair. The other he sets into his hands to open, and uncapped, the scent of earthy woods fills his nose. Not cloying or overpowering, but a strong, neutral foundation. A comforting plain-ness in comparison to how he piles the sweet scent of his soul with smoke and spice. But for her, the smell of sun-warmed leaves need only be accompanied by the wood those leaves are borne upon.

“Do you like it?” He asks, feeling he knows the answer already as he warms the solution in his hands, working it into a dense lather before gently coating her skin. The ritual starts anew, one last time, as he anoints her body with the scent she had ever, ever,  _ ever _ smelt of when she was whole. When everything was whole. 

The last two unbroken things upon any reflection of the star, Elidibus and Emet-Selch seek to bring, in this moment, not a Rejoining, but simply an echo, a feeling of that time back to somebody who has all but forgotten.

  
  


A kiss so sweet, lingering upon his skin like molasses, and Emet-Selch succeeds in pulling more of those tiny, almost nonexistent mewls from Elidibus. The delicate skin over his cheekbones flushes the barest pink through the vibrations of his lover from behind, shaking into that host body and he wants to respond he wants to fire back he wants-

Light shines, piercing his shadows yet not igniting  _ pain, _ and Elidibus loses his breath for an entirely different reason. The violet aether drips into his core, leeches into his body, and when he inhales it is full of all that is  _ Hades. _ Long moments are stolen while gentle light mingles with soothing dark, and when he finds his balance once more Emet-Selch has presented the ornate bottles with which to wash her.

Unlike the Hades of old, this scent was well known to the Emissary - to all who had known her then. It clung to her hair, her robes, soft and urging relaxation, a stark contrast to the fire that always burned deep within her. Even then, she had been so very  _ warm. _ As Emet-Selch washes her body, Elidibus begins to cleanse her hair, once more picking up the comb he had created to allow her to bask in the indolence of it all. Once washed, the conditioning lotions and oils are layered in, thoroughly permeating the air around them.

It takes the Warrior a long time to answer Emet-Selch. She opens her mouth to do so several times, yet each is accompanied by a  _ pulse _ of the light around them. The ambient heat in the room rises while emotion seizes her throat.

"Yes, I-" her voice is thick, choked off by the rising  **thing** inside of her once more. Not her monstrousness, no, and not quite memories but a  _ knowing _ that clouds her mind and causes her body to shake. A piece clicks into place and suddenly she can  _ breathe _ again, hands reaching, fingers clutching at a tendril from one lover and at digits buried in hair from the other.

Something deep inside rises, peaks, cresting over impossibly - she had died, been reborn and wiped clean time and time again and yet  _ still _ these men, these last two of  **_their people_ ** reach out to her. Though they are Darkness Incarnate they snatch this sensory memory, this instinct lost to time and death, and drag it back into the Illuminating Light. She burns hot, hotter, and for the flash of a single moment two tendrils, blue and quicksilver, reach out to curl around her lovers, her  **mates.**

Solid, hot,  _ real. _

They bring back to her a piece of herself, and even though she may not grasp it at will, slipping through her fingers like smoke, it was  _ there _ and it was  _ real _ and she felt them with limbs truly  **_hers,_ ** even in this small, mortal form. Tears stream down her face as she cries without shame. The emotion is so much,  _ too much, _ and the clear aria that rises above their harmony tinkles like bells, like crystals.

Just as her laugh used to, so many years ago.

  
  


Emet-Selch does not rush to her when she begins to weep. No, he dutifully cleanses, soft touches of dexterous hands, allowing the chime of bells to pour from her soul as tears silently spill from his eyes once more, with her. He wears a smile, however soft and gentle it is, heat of a tendril curling around him for just moments as the two of them bring her back to herself, if only in memory, if only in scent. But in this warmth they can remain  _ home _ for as long as they linger, a single room, a tiny piece recreated in near perfection. It  _ hurts _ but at the same time lifts a heavy weight knowing he shares it fully with Elidibus and the Warrior, now.

She will never be  _ her _ again, but some things time will never change. Flowers, scents, colours, all retained but yet she remains so very unique, and in that uniqueness he feels and finds and sees new ways of loving her. Ways he had not considered or been able to when they were both unbroken. That he could love her and Elidibus both equally.

Just as she did for him, when he finishes the slow cleansing of her body, he tucks in against her, soft strokes of lips kissing away tears as they run down her cheeks, holding her in reverent silence as that feeling of a memory not quite grasped pours over her. As she stills, ancient words spill from his lips, laden with sweetness and adoration.

**“It is alright. You are** **_home._ ** **”**

He holds her with soft arms, gentle tendrils and even an ankle hooked over hers, as much as he could possibly hope to hold her physically, while his soul basks in the embrace of hot, but not painful light. And, just as before, he holds her, fingers sliding over to Elidibus to hold him too. All of them, together.

When tears subside, he kisses them away again, smiling at her in a way that can only be recognised as adoring. “Let us get dry and comfortable, shall we? It has been a long few nights. I think we have earned our rest.”

Screaming hunger sated, passions all but completely exhausted, all the three of them need do now is enjoy one another’s company. Their closeness. To bond and allow the stains of aether to settle within their bodies.

Emet-Selch rises first with a kiss to her forehead, stepping out of the deep bath clean and aromatic, wet locks of hair spilling over his shoulders and back, sticking to his skin and already threatening to tangle. He turns to offer a hand to the Hero, wiggling his fingers in mock impatience as his smile reaches his eyes.

  
  


Elidibus kisses away what tears fall from Emet-Selch even as the taller man does the same for the Champion. They back in their togetherness, in wonder, in melancholy, in lament, but mostly they are  _ happy. _ When he steps from the bath, Elidibus follows, snatching up that ornate comb as the Hero accepts the proffered hand and pulls herself from the water. They drip on the floor, streams of water pooling before running off into a tucked away drain along the side.

The Emissary does not waste time, carefully running the tines through Emet-Selch's hair, straightening it before it can become a mess. He stops for a moment, thoughtful look crossing his face, before leaning to snatch up a red and black colored ribbon. He braids a small section of hair, on the side and towards his lover's face, deftly tying it off in a simple adornment. 

She, for her part, had stepped away to obtain a luxurious towel for each of them. A chuckle bubbles out from her, of  _ course _ a man such as Emet-Selch would create such opulence. Only the best, and he complained otherwise - keenly aware of how spoiled he was, and how she did nothing but worsen the issue, truly. Each man is handed a towel, and while they dry themselves she realizes just how hungry she is. 

The aether within her satisfied a good portion of her need for energy, but it could only go so far. She needed actual sustenance. Luckily, her rooms came equipped with a simple, yet perfectly functional kitchen.

Warmth suffuses the air around her, so she forgoes the need of clothing for now. She beckons for the two men to follow and, shoulders set, she begins her mission. Emet-Selch may have satiated himself with his feasting earlier, but Elidibus has not - and she'd be dead before she allowed one of  _ hers _ to go hungry.

Presently, an idea came to mind. Rather, it was the threads of one - a dish prepared at room temperature, served cold, and though she wracked her brains to pull the recipe, she returned with only partial memories. It must be a dish from Amaurot, then. 

Beyond that, if she remembers  _ pieces _ of it, it must have been  **_important._ **

"I'm trying to remember this dish, but I can't seem to recall how it is prepared," she frowns at herself and looks over, meeting their expectant gazes. When she describes what she  _ does _ remember, Elidibus' eyebrows raise.

His hand comes to rest on his lips in a thoughtful gesture, "That was one of the most favored meals to be had, seldom though it was prepared." Black aether brushes against violet, and he meets molten gold eyes with his. "It was typically enjoyed to commemorate a bonding, what mortal life sees now as marriage." Within, dark brushes against her to share a glimpse of the past.

_ Laughter, smaller figures darting around taller ones as two lean close to one another, cooking in tandem. _

**It was to be made together, and shared with all present.**

A pause, and she covers her mouth, face flushing as she speaks without shame. "Then we should make it. With what we've done? Yes," muffled, but firm. She lowers her hands to reveal the determined set of her mouth, the glint in her eye. "Let all with the sight and sense  _ feel _ what we've done, and let us keep this tradition. It's how I feel about you, after all."

Always calculating, always thinking everything through, Elidibus turns it over in his mind, before nodding. "I accept. And you, Hades?"

They both know the answer even as the question leaves the Emissary's lips.

  
  


There’s fuss as Elidibus combs through long hair, the Architect’s voice raising several times to protest as his hair is neatened, pulled straight from the weight of water in it. It lasts for just the seconds he was caught off-guard in, before he settles to allow Elidibus to dote upon him. He makes a sound of contentment as from the corner of his eye he watches skilled hands braid and decorate the locks of hair next to his face.

Blissed out as he is it takes fair moments for the words she speaks to sink in as he dries, the heat of her radiant soul seeming to take any remaining wetness from his skin once the towel takes the majority. Wrapping the plush cotton around his waist and tucking it, he looks up as she explains the dish to Elidibus.

Realization sets in heavily, almost taking the breath from his lungs.

He remembers in clarity when  _ he _ had made that dish last.

_ Hades stood next to her, almost joined at the hip as nimble hands slice strawberries into fine slices, carefully spreading and shaping it into a curl, pressing the slices down ‘til they appear as petals.  _

_ His companion, his  _ **_bond_ ** _ next to him whipping soft cheese and sweet sugar together, swirled with ribbons of cloying tree sap. A rich dish, a deep and incredible indulgence for any Amaurotine. _

_ “Did you think this day would come?” _

_ “Are your expectations truly so low, Hades? I saw this day from the moment we first locked eyes.” _

_ Gold eyes paused to look at her, a joyful smile pulling at his lips as he dipped to kiss her cheek, long locks of white hair tickling her jawline. _

_ “You know I have never been as optimistic as my compeers. But full glad am I this day is here.” _

_ The two continued in silence other than to exchange sounds of contentment, dairy poured in layers between beds of sliced fruits and berries, before being topped with the skilfully cut and shaped berry roses. _

_ For somebody who claimed to be pessimistic, it was clear Hades had spent more than a few decades practicing how to craft them. _

Emet-Selch is silent for a long while, his eyes locked onto hers, until finally his face breaks into a smile. “I accept. Of course I accept. We have it all backwards  _ but I accept, _ we should make it. Again. The three of us, now.”

He sounds like  _ Hades, _ the softness and joy of an ancient being so close to being lost bubbling to the surface in both his words and the way his song surges to the fore, a glee unlike Solus zos Galvus, a gentleness unlike Emet-Selch. He draws her into his arms and kisses her softly, slowly, fingers sliding down to simply cup the brand on her swollen belly. They have it all backwards. But he would make it again. He would always make it again.

The kiss is broken with another to her forehead, and his gaze moves to Elidibus, gently tugging him close to kiss the other Ascian with the same reverence. “If I am not mistaken, all the things needed still exist on this shard, do they not? It would be wrong to simply conjure the ingredients, I feel.”

A wry, gravelly laugh escapes his throat.

“Let us hope these old hands of mine still know what to do.”

They would.

He had never stopped practicing.

  
  


For all the lingering they have done, it takes the three of them a relatively short time to gather the necessary ingredients. Clothed in freshly conjured garments - repaired, in the Champion's case, they separate to obtain what was needed.

The process of cooking takes even less time, the three of them dividing the tasks equally, six hands making fast work even when they crowd one another's space intentionally.

Moisture springs forth in her eyes when she takes her first bite, feeding herself first as tradition demands, then her loved ones. Elidibus, too, though he says naught of the dampness in his own eyes. They feed one another, exchanging portions with weighted motions, a  _ gravity _ about everything even as they turn to Emet-Selch and do the same. 

Nothing is mentioned about the way golden eyes shine with tears, only shared smiles.

Though no additional tasks are performed, the air is heavy with the memory of the past, the specter of the future just on the horizon.

But they would walk it as one, they three against all odds, monsters coiled together with fate entwined in their grasp.

The foundations of balance would never be the same, and that is as they wish it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Satisfaction to the last crumb.

**Author's Note:**

> There never was shame to begin with, only monsters.


End file.
